


The Survival Games

by 100gamesvictor



Series: The Survival Games [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: A Functional Panem, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Gay Male Character, Gen, M/M, Militarized Capitol, Multi, Other, POV Peeta Mellark, Peeta Doesn't Love Katniss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-05-09 17:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14720078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100gamesvictor/pseuds/100gamesvictor
Summary: Peeta Mellark was never in love with Katniss Everdeen.  Instead, he is reaped for the 74th Hunger Games and is determined to make it home to District 12.  To do that, he might have to start selling off pieces of his soul.  Still, he thinks that will be worth it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story with the single thought in mind: What would the Hunger Games have been like if Peeta had never been in love with Katniss? Their love story, to me, didn't seem entirely plausible, and this was my way of showing how Peeta would handle being in the arena if he was actually trying to survive. After all, most teenagers aren't likely to sacrifice their lives for a girl they had never known. So, I started writing and came up with 26 chapters on the topic and plans for a sequel.  
> Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and material from The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.

Every morning, [Peeta](https://78.media.tumblr.com/a0b20005caf718c2631da0da73ee98c7/tumblr_nibtkngEcg1u8au21o1_1280.jpg) woke up at dawn and this morning was no different. He pushed himself up from the lumpy mattress made of straw which his parents had spent weeks working overtime for three years ago when he was thirteen and had grown too tall for the child’s mattress that he had been using at the time.

His blanket was thin and marred with holes that had accumulated as it was passed down from brother to brother. He was the third Mellark boy to have it of this generation; he was sure that his father and his brothers had once used it as well.

Barley and Rye, his brothers, were asleep in their beds, snoring away. Peeta was the youngest, of course, so he was the one who had to get ready to open the shop.

When his bare feet hit the rickety wooden, Peeta grimaced at the slight creak. It wasn’t too loud, but the walls between rooms were awfully thin, and it wouldn’t be the first time he had accidentally woken his mother. It was an experience he desperately hoped he could avoid.

Tiptoeing across the wooden floor, he squeezed between his brothers’ beds and to the wardrobe which housed their clothes. Gently, he pulled it open and picked up the old white t-shirt and torn jeans that he wore when opening the store.

Peeta put on his clothes as quickly and quietly as he could, closing the wardrobe and slipping on a pair of thin, hole-filled socks and inching his way toward the door of his room. He opened it, barely—opening it all the way would make an awful squeak which would certainly wake his parents up—and slipped down the hallway to the living room.

The cramped, tiny room had only enough room for the whole family to sit if Peeta’s father and brothers crammed onto the sofa while his mother took the armchair. Peeta, as the youngest, was made to sit on the floor for mandatory viewing.

At the top of the steps, Peeta sat down and slipped on his worn boots. He struggled to pull them on without his knees hitting the walls, but he managed it. Carefully, he walked down the stairs and began work in the bakery.

The Mellarks had been bakers since before the Dark Days, according to Peeta’s father. They had owned and operated the same shop for seventy-one years. Ever since the building was rebuilt after being burned down in the rebellion. It was a proud and illustrious legacy.

One Peeta was unlikely to be a part of for much longer.

It was a sad fact of Panem’s District 12: everyone was dirt poor. Sure, the Seam—the coal miners who operated in the district’s primary industry—liked to call the merchants wealthy, but that was simply not the case.

Merchants only made slightly more money than the coal miners once the tithes to the Capitol were paid for. Peeta’s family owned a bakery, yet he had never had fresh bread. His family simply couldn’t afford to waste their merchandise.

Everything he ate had been sitting on the shelves for three days and wouldn’t sell. Often, they couldn’t even eat that because the Capitol demanded their scraps to feed the miners for lunch.

It was better than the alternative, Peeta knew. Stale food was better than no food. He had seen those in the Seam starving and dying on the roadside. He was lucky.

Turning on the oven and kneading the dough for the various loaves his family would be making today was practically instinctive. He did this every morning, and his family rarely got involved before the business opened.

Of course, today wasn’t any normal day. Normal days would mean slaving away in the kitchen until dusk. Normal days would mean that his brothers would eventually come join him, so he could get breakfast. Normal days would be preferable to today. Today was the first Saturday of June.

The reaping.

Every year on the first Saturday of June, the Hunger Games began. Or rather, the pre-Hunger Games activities started to commence. At two o’clock, Peeta was expected to be in the town square, just outside the bakery’s front door, for the reaping to begin.

A quick glance outside showed that there were workers already setting up the square for the event. The stage in front of the Justice Building had been erected last week, and Capitol workers had been spending the intermittent time preparing for the event.

Peeta pulled out the bread and left it to cool on the counter and moved to double check the cakes that had been pre-ordered for the reaping.

Peacekeeper Headquarters—the organizational hub of all the peacekeepers in the district—had ordered a triple layer chocolate cake to commemorate the occasion and another to celebrate the start of the Games proper in a week. Peeta had been working on the frosting of the first cake since yesterday.

It wasn’t intricate, but the vanilla frosting was perfectly distributed across the entire surface. He carefully piped silver frosting along the bottom and made the looping design that Head Peacekeeper Cray had suggested. On the top was a pristine “74”.

Satisfied with his word, Peeta turned to the second cake he would be making. It was smaller, but that made sense as it was for the Capitol Liaison Office in the Justice Building. Senior Capitol Liaison, Pulcheria Tear, had requested that the cake be made in the shape of Finnick Odair’s head.

Finnick Odair was hot, but Peeta couldn’t begin to understand why someone would want to eat a cake that looked like him. Was it some weird fetish that Pulcheria was exercising here in 12? Peeta didn’t know, but he was an excellent baker, and he got to work.

He only had a single photograph of Finnick, taken during an interview if Caesar Flickerman next to him was any indication, but he was sure to mix the frosting as perfectly as possible. He mapped out the facial features and tried to smooth out the frosting to capture the gorgeous man’s face as best he could.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the back door or the bakery, and Peeta thanked the years of training with cakes that he didn’t jump and smudge the design.

Carefully, Peeta placed the frosting down and walked over to the door. Opening it, he saw [Gale Hawthorne](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/100gamesvictorfanficstories/images/8/82/Gale_Hawthorne.png/revision/latest?cb=20180514193645), a boy from the Seam who frequently traded with his family.

“Your father around?” he asked, not bothering with a proper greeting.

Peeta didn’t let it bother him as he shook his head. “Still asleep,” he said. “What’ve you got to trade.”

“I don’t trade with kids,” insisted Hawthorne, shaking his head. “You’re not allowed to make deals for your parents.”

Peeta’s gaze cooled as he looked at the slightly older boy. “One,” he said, “I’m only, what, a year younger than you. Two, I’m the same age as that girl you come around with. Katniss, right.”

Hawthorne bristled, and Peeta smiled. “She’s in my class. I ask again, what’ve you got?”

Hawthorne glared, but he held up the fat squirrel that he had caught. “Your father usually gives me two loaves for it.”

Peeta chuckled and grabbed one of the fresh loaves that he had just taken out of the oven. Slipping it into a paper bag, he handed it to Hawthorne. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Two or no deal,” insisted Hawthorne, but Peeta shrugged, taking the bread back.

“No deal, then,” he replied, moving to close the door.

But Hawthorne’s hand shot out to stop the door. “Fine,” he said, “One. But only because it’s fresh.”

“One,” Peeta agreed. “But only because that’s the regular price.”

Peeta took the fat squirrel from Hawthorne and stepped back. “See you, Gale,” he said. More seriously, he continued, “And good luck today.”

For a moment, Gale stood there, staring at him, eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I’ll be needing it.”

With that, Peeta closed the door and made his way over to the family’s cooler in the kitchen and placed the squirrel inside. He would tell his father about it when he woke up. Let him claim to have made the trade.

Returning to his work, Peeta worked for the next three hours perfecting the design, happy that, by nine o’clock, the cake was complete and ready to be boxed. He had put out all the bread and the cookies, croissants, and bagels were all cooking away. A tray of cupcakes had been made the night before, so that would be fine, and everything was complete.

Good. Because at that moment, he heard the stomping of feet on the stairs accompanied by his mother’s grumbling morning voice. Peeta tensed and shook his head. Everything was fine and prepared. The shop was ready to be opened at nine thirty like always for the reaping. It was cleaned, he had washed the counter. It was fine.

“Boy!” she called, making him jump as she circled into the room. “Is everything ready?”

Peeta nodded. “Yes, Mother,” he replied. “Everything is out and ready to be served, the cakes are decorated and boxed—I put them on the cooling racks—I cleaned the counter and unlocked the door. Everything’s ready.”

“Good,” she nodded, pacing around the kitchen in her faded slippers and thin robe. “The reaping is one of the most profitable days of the year. Everybody’s celebrating.”

Her hand shot forward and gripped his shirt, pulling him down to her eye level. “If even one thing goes wrong today,” she spat, “you’ll be without meals for a month.”

Peeta nodded frantically, his shoulders shaking as she glared daggers at him. “I know, Mother, it’ll go alright.”

For a moment, she stared into his eyes, glaring as though looking for the depths of his secret plan to ruin sales. Then, she released him, and he jumped to full height, nodding at her.

“Man the counter until your brother gets down,” she declared, stalking out of the kitchen. “Then get ready for the reaping.”

Peeta just stood in the kitchen staring at the door his mother just left from. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He didn’t need to worry, he told himself. He had done everything properly.

“Charming as always, I see,” said a voice from behind him.

Spinning around, Peeta smiled to see his best friend, [Garnet](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/100gamesvictorfanficstories/images/6/65/Garnet_Aimes.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180514193637), smiling from the back door. He was already dressed for the reaping. His plain white collared shirt was clean and new. The slacks didn’t have any holes in them, and the shoes were well-made and only worn for special occasions. Only the best for the Capitol.

“You able to hang out before the reaping?” he asked smiling at Peeta. “Madge invited you, me, and Delly for lunch at around noon. We go there, get some good food in us, then potentially walk to our deaths.” He smiled brightly. “Talk about a great day.”

Peeta chuckled. “You heard my mother,” he said, “I’ve got to man the shop.”

“Get one of your brothers to do it.”

“Like they would,” he scoffed. Barley and Rye didn’t do anything in the back of the shop. All they were good for was manning the register.

“Hey,” said Garnet, holding up his hands. “Barley should really get some experience baking at some point. I mean, he’s gonna own a bakery at some point, isn’t he?”

“Try telling him that.”

“You want me to?” offered Garnet, fearless as always.

Peeta shook his head, smiling at his best friend. Garnet was always offering to cause trouble in the bakery if it meant helping Peeta out. He was an only child and the son of the jeweler. He never saw the need to duck for cover.

“I don’t want to upset anyone today,” confessed Peeta, smiling awkwardly at his friend.

Garnet smiled. “Great!” he chirped. “Then don’t upset me and come over to Madge’s house to spend time with your friends before the reaping.”

Peeta laughed. “What am I supposed to tell my parents?” he asked. “I’m going over to see a bunch of miscreants. You know, that boy you can’t stand among them.”

“Well, that’s what I would say,” noted Garnet thoughtfully, brushing stray strands of blonde hair out of his eyes. “But no, you say you’re going over to the mayor’s house at the request of his beautiful and eligible daughter who is currently set to take her father’s place but lacks any notable marriage prospects. Your mother’ll be shoving you out the door herself.”

That was true. Ever since they were children, Peeta’s mother had been trying to pass him off to Madge to get married. Delly, too, but more Madge. Marrying into the mayor’s family would be quite the coup for her. They’d probably get a small fortune for the marriage.

If only Peeta had any desire to marry Madge. Or she him. The two of them had never even looked at each other that way. Though, when he came to her, Delly, and Garnet and told them about his prospects after he came of age, that was close to changing.

He knew that he would be forced to live in the Seam and work as a coal miner should he not find someone with a business to marry. Yet, it was only when he was thirteen that his mother informed him that he would be kicked to the curb when he finished his last reaping at eighteen and be made to fend for himself.

His only hope to not become a miner was to find an eligible lady to marry who was set to inherit her own family’s business.

Madge and Delly were both set to inherit their families’ businesses, the mayor’s office and the shoe store respectively. When he told them about his future shunning by his family, both had immediately offered to marry him, so he could stay.

Peeta had been touched, and a part of him wanted to accept their offers. But, much as he appreciated the gesture, he didn’t want to marry someone he wasn’t in love with. And they both deserved someone that loved them. They were like sisters to him. They deserved the best.

So, he had gently declined their marriage proposals and had been using it as an excuse to get away with things ever since.

“Alright,” he said, smiling at his delighted friend as he whooped. “I suppose Madge could use a suitor for the afternoon. And, who knows, maybe she invited her good friend Delly and Delly’s startlingly new and utterly gay boyfriend along for the lunch.”

“It could happen,” agreed Garnet. His crystal blue eyes were alight with mirth as he smiled at Peeta. “And hey, maybe this’ll be the time people stop asking me if I’m ever gonna find a girl.”

“There are enough chasing after you.”

Garnet nodded emphatically. “I know,” he said, concerned. “I’m running out of reasons to say no.”

“Just say it,” said Peeta, putting some of the dough away as his friend pouted. “You don’t need to give a reason.”

“I do for my parents,” retorted Garnet. “They keep setting me up, and I keep turning them down. What do I do?”

Peeta shrugged. “Become ugly?”

Garnet just glared. “Impossible,” he replied, gesturing to himself. “Have you met me?”

“I have,” Peeta replied, though he agreed that there was no world in which Garnet was ever considered ugly. “Maybe talk to them for an hour or two. They’ll figure out how annoying you are and leave you alone.”

Amazingly, Garnet seemed to consider it. “It’s an option, I suppose,” he said.

Suddenly, the steps creaked as someone started walking down. Garnet’s eyes widened and hurried out the back door. “See you at Madge’s at noon,” he said, swinging the door shut before Peeta could reply.

For a moment, Peeta just stared at the door where Garnet had just been, smiling. Then, his father entered the room, and Peeta turned to him.

“Uh,” he said. “Gale Hawthorne came by earlier. I traded a squirrel for a loaf of bread.”

Grainer Mellark nodded at his son, and Peeta smiled. “Good,” he said. “He try to haggle with you?”

“Tried for two loaves, but I didn’t budge.”

His father shrugged. “I’d have done it for reaping day, but it’s fine.”

Peeta’s face burned at his father’s words. Everything was fine. Everything was always fine.

“Also,” he said as his father moved to the ovens. “Madge Undersee asked me to come over for lunch. I know I was supposed to man the shop but…”

“Go,” his father said resolutely, brushing his hand along toward the door. “Barley can man the shop for the afternoon. Go get the girl.”

Peeta just plastered a smile on his face at his father’s words. ‘Go get the girl’ like she was some sort of possession and not one of his best friends. It was always like that. Girls were there for boys to have, and if one dared to think for herself—as Aster Isely did twenty-three years ago and his father was still complaining about it—they had made a silly mistake and was to be brushed off.

“Thanks, Father,” he said, untying his apron. “I’m gonna go get ready for the reaping. Gotta look my best for the mayor’s daughter.”

“Exactly,” the man said, nodding.

So, Peeta slid out of the kitchen and up the narrow, rickety stairs to his family’s apartment. He wasn’t as quiet as in the morning; his brothers were supposed to be awake by now.

“Peeta,” huffed Rye as he entered the room. He and Barley were both lying in bed, covering their faces with pillows as he marched into the room. “We’re trying to sleep.”

“Uh huh,” Peeta replied, not caring as he knocked into their beds to grab his reaping clothes from the wardrobe. His middle brother pulled the pillow off his face to glare at Peeta. “That seems like a ‘you’ problem.”

It’ll be your problem if you don’t get out,” growled Barley.

Peeta shrugged. “Sorry,” he said, not sorry at all. “Father said that one of you needed to watch the shop this afternoon. I’m off to Madge’s.”

“Hmph,” scoffed Barley, glaring at him drearily. “They still trying to set you up with the mayor’s daughter. Please. It’ll never happen.”

“Maybe so,” laughed Peeta as he buttoned up his shirt. “Or maybe it will. They aren’t sure, so they’ll keep trying. Now, come on. It’s nearly ten thirty. You should be up anyway. It’s the reaping.”

“I’m not in it,” snapped Barley, putting the pillow over his head again.

“Suit yourself,” shrugged Peeta, walking toward the door in his best clothes. “I’m off.”

His mother’s door was locked, meaning she was inside preparing for the reaping like she was going to be the one on stage. She did it every year and insisted on dressing to impress the Capitolites that came into town.

Peeta hurried down the stairs and out into the completely changed square. The banners were hung all around the buildings to showcase the seal of Panem from nearly all angles. They were red as blood and painted with the golden seal that seemed reflective in the morning sun.

On the ground, the barriers that would be separating the various children being reaped into their proper age and gender groups were all set out. The sign-in tables were all prepared, and there were ropes to indicate where everyone would be standing.

At the front of the square was a large stage. The Justice Building sat behind it and it was the tallest building by far in the district. Eighteen floors of white marble towered over District 12. Though the marble was marred and permanently stained grey from the vast amounts of coal dust filtering from the mines, it was still impressive. A large banner with the symbol of the Capitol hung down the center of the building. On either side was a massive banner with the golden number “74” on it. This year’s Hunger Games.

Peeta shrugged as he started walking through the square, mindful of the dozens of additional peacekeepers running around the area. He skirted around the edges of the square and headed toward the mayor’s house.

It was a large building, two stories with wide steps leading up to the front door. It was similar to the Justice Building in that the white marble was stained grey, but it also had a feeling of being lived in.

Inside, Peeta knew that there was a massive ballroom which was used to host the Victory Tour feast every year. The building was large and spacious, and the Mellark Bakery could fit inside it a dozen times over with room to spare.

However, Peeta noted fairly, it wasn’t as though the mayor’s house was just a job benefit. As previously stated, it hosted feasts in the Capitol’s honor. It also acted as his workplace. All his assistants and underlings had offices on the first floor, and they ran the district from here.

Madge often noted to him that she rarely got sleep when quotas were due because her father worked overtime trying to determine how much coal had been mined by the district over the previous month. The

lights were always on, and there was noise constantly as a result.

Knocking on the front door Peeta waited a few moments as he looked around the square. It was a shame that the reaping was so terrifying to the district because the Capitol knew how to make it look like a party. Sometimes, such as at the winter festival, the square could be very festive, but it was marred by the coming events.

The door to the Mayor’s house opened and their housekeeper, Moira, was standing there. “Peeta,” she said, delighted as she moved out of the way. “Madge and Delly are in the sitting room. You know the way. It’s lovely to see you.”

“You, too, Moira,” he said sincerely. The woman had practically raised Madge and, as such, he had seen her quite a bit when he was young.

Peeta left the woman with a smile and moved through Madge’s house quickly and easily. He was perfectly aware of where he needed to go. It was the first door on the right, and he entered to see two of his closest friends sitting on the sofa.

Both girls were smiling at him as he entered the room, their eyes crinkled with laughter. [Madge](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/100gamesvictorfanficstories/images/f/fc/Madge_Undersee.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180507075524), her bright blue eyes dancing as she looked at him, was wearing a cream-colored dress and had her hair perfectly curled. She sat, straight-backed and poised like the mayor’s daughter should. On her dress, there was a golden bird pin.

A mockingjay.

Madge told him that it had belonged to her Aunt Maysilee before she was killed in the arena. Her mother had given it to her for her first reaping. Peeta knew that it was one of Madge’s most treasured possessions.

[Delly](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/100gamesvictorfanficstories/images/4/4f/Delly_Cartwright.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180507195610) sat next to her, her dark blue eyes nearly in tears. She was smiling at something Madge said like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. That was how Delly always acted. Her dress was a dark bronze, and she kept patting it down in fear that it would somehow get wrinkled before the reaping.

“Peeta!” Delly declared, jumping to her feet to grab his hands. She let him to the chair near her, and he sat down. “You have to hear this story Madge’s been telling me.”

She launched into Madge’s story, forgetting that the girl was right next to her and could tell it herself. Peeta shared a look with Madge, and they shook their heads. Delly was Delly.

Apparently, some boy from the Seam named Ulrich Jessup had seen Madge spending some time with Reese Donner last weekend and they made a joke about her going after younger boys. This would have been nothing if he hadn’t said it while they were supposed to be working on a project in school. It also wouldn’t have been a big deal if he had realized that Reese was Madge’s cousin.

Madge, considerate as she was, didn’t get offended, but Peeta could see why Delly found the situation amusing. Everyone always fawned over Madge, but she rarely spoke to anyone. Of course, people would be making assumptions about the people she spent time with. He had heard the rumors about how he was secretly dating her.

“So,” said Madge, placing a hand on Delly’s shoulder to stop her before she began talking again. “Do you know where Garnet is? We don’t have much time before the reaping.”

“Well since you asked,” noted a voice from the doorway.

Garnet was standing there, leaning against the wall like he’d always been there. He was smirking at them but took care to brush his hair out of his face. “I gotta say Madge,” he told her. “I didn’t know you were into the whole ‘incest’ thing, but I’m sure that little Reese’ll help you out if you asked.”

Ever the proper and dignified lady… Madge threw a pillow at him. Garnet lunged forward and grabbed it, hugging it close to his chest as he sauntered over to them. “Come on, Miss Undersee,” he said, winking at her lasciviously, “Did Ulrich have the right idea? You never do date anyone.”

“Neither do you,” she shot back blithely. “You secretly gunning for your cousin Ivanna.”

Of course, because it was Garnet, he had to think about it. “I mean,” he said. “She’s lovely. Any guy would be lucky to have her, but, she’s missing some key traits that I’m looking for in a partner.”

“Cock, for instance,” suggested Madge, the vulgarity falling from her lips far too naturally for someone so proper.

Garnet nodded. “Exactly.”

“But let’s be honest here,” said Peeta smiling at his friend, “Even if she suddenly grew one, you’ve got standards to live up too.”

“What are these standards of which you speak?” demanded Garnet as Delly and Madge chuckled. “I will have you know that my lovely cousin is lovely in every conceivable way.”

“Except to talk too,” sassed Madge, who couldn’t stand Ivanna Aimes. “You know, except in that small and insignificant way.”

Garnet paused. “Well,” he said, sighing exaggeratedly as he plopped himself down. “You do make an excellent point, my darling Madge. Were it not for her lacking the necessary appendages and my aversion to incest, Ivanna’s truly dreadful personality would be a strong con against our union.”

“She’s not that bad,” protested Delly, who said that whenever their little group started getting catty.

Madge just glared. “Dells,” she said. “Last week, she told you to volunteer so your pasty face could get chopped off by a Career. A week before the reaping.”

“But don’t you think she paid for that when you stuck chewing gum in her hair and Garnet told her boyfriend about how she likes to eat her boogers.”

“I never said that wasn’t true,” insisted Garnet, lounging back as he started eating the sandwich from the table.

“Come on,” said Peeta, shoving Garnet’s arm. “The week before that you said that I was secretly the spawn of a Capitolite and my father’s illicit love affair.”

“So?”

“You like to make up stories.”

“Peeta,” Garnet said, moving to sit up. His crystal blue eyes gazed into Peeta’s deeply. “Would I really defame and destroy my own cousin’s reputation with anything less than the truth?”

Peeta stared at him. Garnet was so open and honest as he looked sincerely at Peeta, imploring him to understand.

“Yes.”

Garnet loosed a delighted laugh and shrugged. “What can I say?” he asked. “Blood only goes so far, and she had it coming.”

“That destroyed her reputation,” insisted Delly, though she was laughing, too.

The boy shoved his sandwich in his mouth and threw his hands up. “Whatever,” he said around the food as he swallowed.

“Madge and her friends,” chirped Moira from the door. She was smiling indulgently at them as they sat around, though it grew cooler as she spoke. “You should know, it’s only a half hour until the reaping. You need to get signed in right about now.”

Just like that, the good mood drained from the room.

“Well, then,” said Madge, ever prepared. “We should get going then.”

Peeta left the second half of his sandwich on the plate. He would eat it after the reaping. They made their way out of the house and into the vastly more crowded square.

As was standard, the entire district turned out for the reaping. Every child between the ages of twelve and eighteen was on the line to get signed in, and the four friends joined them. All the earlier banter died in the face of possible death.

Peeta waited on line alongside the other children as they moved through the line. It was only a half hour until the reaping, and the sign-in process was very quick. A prick on the finger and a spot of blood on a paper and they were in.

As such, as the roughly two thousand three hundred children within reaping age—Madge had mentioned it to him last year when the census was taken of District 12—moved up the line, it only took him about fifteen minutes to read one of the fifteen officials signing children in.

“Next,” he heard the woman say, and Peeta stepped forward.

He held out his hand for her to take and she quickly pricked it with the device. Peeta grimaced as he felt the sting, but then she let him go and he walked toward the reaping pen.

“Do they get faster every year?” asked Garnet as they made their way to the fifteen-year-old boys’ section—both of their birthdays fell after the reaping. “I feel like they get faster.”

“You’re probably daydreaming the whole way up and don’t notice,” Peeta joked, getting shoved by his friend.

“Maybe,” he said. “But at least I don’t have to think about it.”

There was that.

Both of them stood around, not really talking as they waited for the reaping to begin. Up on stage, Madge’s Father, Mayor Undersee, was talking with the Capitol Escort who would conduct the event, [Effie Trinket](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/100gamesvictorfanficstories/images/0/05/Effie_Trinket.png/revision/latest?cb=20180506205056). They were both looking anxiously toward the two empty chairs next to them.

Finally, one o’clock rolled around, and everyone was settled. The cameras started to roll and the screens around the district burst to life and projected the screen for all to see. Everyone in the district would be witnessing this.

Mayor Undersee rose to his feet and approached the microphone. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Welcome, District Twelve to the reaping of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games,” he said. “Panem is a nation built on the prosperity and generosity of the Capitol. We the districts, who have provided our nation with resources since out inception, are protected and loved by our guarantors. The Capitol’s armies provide us with protection from the many nations of the world which seek to subjugate and enslave us.”

That was the crux of the Capitol’s rule over the districts, after all. The Capitol was massive, around three times the sise and population than all the districts combined. It was a massive organization dedicated to the prosperity and growth of their military. Over the past three hundred years before the Dark Days, Panem waged war across the world to force the enemy nations which were attempting to invade the districts.

It was why the Capitol ruled the districts. They were the ones who guarded and secured the districts. They were also the ones who could force the districts to comply if they tried to rebel.

“Our benefactors led us peacefully for centuries. During this time, we were a prosperous nation. Each district provided a necessary labor for the betterment of the whole while the Capitol acted as the beating heart which both ensured our success and our security.

“Then came the Dark Days,” said the mayor, his voice growing more serious. “We the districts rebelled against the benevolent Capitol which gave us our lives. For fifteen long, dreadful years, we waged war against our benefactors. Millions upon millions died in the struggle. One by one, the districts surrendered. All save one.

“District Thirteen threatened to destroy all that we of Panem could achieve as a unit. They sought to destroy not just the Capitol but the districts who dared to return to the fold. And so, with deep sadness, the Capitol was forced to annihilate District Thirteen entirely for the betterment of all.”

Because that’s how parents handle naughty children, thought Peeta, his own mother coming to mind. Threats of violence and death were the only way to exert authority.

“Yet we the districts had not been punished for our crimes,” declared the Mayor, and Peeta heard a few people throughout the crowd snort. “And so, as a reminder to the districts of the carnage we had wrought on Panem, each district would offer up one male and one female between the ages of twelve and eighteen to be given into the custody of the Capitol.

“These tributes would be placed in a public arena and made to fight to the death until a single, lone victor survived. This victor, bathed in riches, would be a reminder of both the Capitol’s mercy and generosity. And this pageant, known forever as the Hunger Games, would be a reminder that we must never allow ourselves to be tempted by war again.”

How that made sense, Peeta didn’t know. District 12 was impoverished and dying. People died on the streets from hunger every week. Others died in the mines because the working conditions were deplorable. The Hunger Games on top of all that was just a slap in the face.

“And now,” said the mayor. “A reading of the past victors. The victor of the Thirty-First Hunger Games, Beena Greene, then aged eighteen. Unfortunately, Ms. Green’s heart condition required her to be moved to the Capitol. She was unable to attend these proceedings.”

That wasn’t new. Beena Greene had missed the last Hunger Games as well. The year before, she had been giving an interview about the dead tribute she had been mentoring when she had gripped her chest and keeled over on screen. Every few months, mandatory viewing would show an interview with her from her hospital bed, but it was clear from the machines she was hooked up too that the woman wasn’t able to do much.

“The victor of the Fiftieth Hunger Games, Haymitch Abernathy, then aged eighteen,” continued the mayor. He gestured to Haymitch Abernathy, who had come on stage sometime during the speech.

[Haymitch Abernathy](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/100gamesvictorfanficstories/images/6/63/Haymitch_Abernathy.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180506205049) was a man in his forties who had black hair, tan skin, and grey eyes. He was also disheveled and wearing rumpled clothes as he tried to lean back in his chair against Effie Trinket. She had put her hand up, long nails scraping against his face as she held his drunken face away from her.

Turning back to the mayor, he heard the man say, “Let us begin the reapings.”

At that, Effie Trinket shoved herself away from Haymitch, whose arms seemed to flail after her. Peeta chuckled. He glanced at Garnet, and the boy mimicked the arm movement.

Effie and the mayor shook hands as she took the stage. She wore a violet suit and skirt, and her skin was unnaturally pale. Her hair was a powdery pink and she smiled brightly as she walked onto the stage.

“Oh, Happy Hunger Games, District Twelve,” she trilled, her voice high and chipper. “And may the odds be ever in your favor. It is my honor and privilege to be here to conduct this illustrious ceremony. And as such, ladies first.”

Effie made her way over to the massive class ball with thousands of little slips of paper inside. There was another on the opposite side of the stage filled with the boys’ names. Effie turned to smirk at the crowd for a moment before reaching her hand in. She shuffled the papers around for a moment and pulled one free.

Then, she pranced back to the stage, her enormous heels clicking along so that the entire square could hear. With a sultry smirk, Effie unfolded the paper and said clearly into the microphone…

“Primrose Everdeen.”

A sense of dread fell over Peeta as he heard that name. He knew that name. He had talked about her sister Katniss to Gale Hawthorne earlier that morning. Peeta had seen her outside the school, walking home with her sister hand in hand.

Primrose Everdeen was only twelve.

The crowd didn’t seem happy either as Primrose walked up the steps to the stage. Effie’s face seemed to fall for a moment, but she brightened back up as she moved to the stairs to help Prim walk up.

“PRIM!” a voice called from the crowd. “PRIM!”

In the sixteen-year-old girls’ section, [Katniss Everdeen](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/100gamesvictorfanficstories/images/5/5b/Katniss_Everdeen.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180514204725) was frantically pushing her way through the girls, running to the center aisle. Peacekeepers were already racing forward, grabbing their weapons to forcibly stop her if need be. But, before they could, Katniss screamed.

“I volunteer as tribute!”

Stunned silence filled the square at her pronouncement. Peeta stared at her in shock as she stood there, gasping frantically at the stage.

Once a tribute was reaped, any other eligible boy or girl respectively could volunteer to take their place. In districts where the Games are a huge honor such as 1, 2, and 4, this happened all the time.

In District 12? The last volunteer had been when Peeta was very young. The boy who did it was frantic and scared. He hadn’t stood a chance, but he had done just what Katniss did. Volunteered for a sibling.

Effie started clapping next to the microphone, trilling “Wonderful, wonderful. Now, come on up.”

“Katniss,” Primrose screamed, shaking her head. Tears streamed down her face. “Katniss, no! NO!”

But it was too late. Once the words were spoken, it was binding. Primrose ran forward, gripping her sister’s waist, but Katniss only hugged her for a moment before pushing her off. They seemed to speak for a second before a sobbing Primrose ran off to the crowd.

“Well, dear, come on up,” trilled Effie, her voice echoing around the district. “Come on, dear, don’t be shy.”

Katniss ascended the steps, her legs wobbling as she did. Effie grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the microphone. “So, dear, what’s your name.”

Shaking, but not crying, she replied, “Katniss Everdeen.”

“Ooh,” cooed Effie. “I bet my hat that was your sister. Didn’t want her to steal all the glory? Well, alright them. Let’s everyone give a big round of applause for Katniss Everdeen: your female tribute!”

Peeta stood there, standing next to Garnet, and they just looked up at the girl. He couldn’t imagine the amount of love it would take to do what she did. To choose to enter that hell.

No one was clapping. Rather, people were pressing the middle three fingers of their left hand to their lips and presenting them to Katniss. It was an old sign. One that the district has always had. It was the utmost show of respect and love that the district knew how to give.

Peeta and Garnet both pressed their fingers to their lips and presented them to Katniss.

Effie didn’t seem to know what to do with herself as the district honored Katniss, but she didn’t have to worry for long. Haymitch Abernathy was awake, and he stumbled toward the escort.

“Aw, come on, darling,” he drawled, stumbling down and nearly taking her with him. He managed to grab onto her to steady himself, but it was a near thing. “Thizziz gossta be da bestest reaping in da Grmezz. Erybodyll be talkin ta you.”

Effie just glared at him, shrugging his arm off her shoulder and standing up to full height. “Yes, well,” she said, anxious for a change. “Thank you for those words of wisdom, Haymitch dear. But now.” She paused for a moment to shoot the district a jaunty smile. “For the boys.”

Peeta tensed as she said that. Effie walked over to the reaping bowl containing the boys’ names and stuck her hand in. Rather than wriggling her hand around as she did with the girls, she simply shot her hand deep into the bowl and gripped a paper, pulling it out. There wasn’t any of the showy sauntering that she usually had when walking over either.

As she did this, Mayor Undersee had come up to the microphone and grabbed Haymitch, pulling him back toward the chair so he wouldn’t further embarrass the district.

Katniss, for her part, stood in anticipation to see who her competitor would be. The Capitol may show the districts off as a unit, but everyone knew that when the Games began, it was everyone for themselves. They weren’t really connected to one another.

Unfolding the paper, Effie, read the name clearly and precisely for the entire district.

“Peeta Mellark.”

Garnet gasped at his side, and he felt the eyes of the various boys around him as they turned to stare at him. It was a long moment as he stared up at the stage, hearing his name repeat over and over in his head.

Four slips. Four slips out of thousands.

Just his luck.

Hadn’t his mother refused to let him take out tesserae because it would be a sign of poverty? Hadn’t he missed several meals the one year he dared suggest it? Of course, all of that didn’t matter because he was called anyway and the boys around him were clearing a path to the center aisle.

Garnet pulled Peeta, still numb, into a hug. Peeta felt his strong arms around him and relaxed marginally. “Go,” Garnet breathed in his ear. “Go and kick ass in that arena. You hear me? Peeta, answer.”

Peeta nodded. “I hear you.”

“Stay strong,” Garnet continued, pulling back and looking him in the eyes. “You’re the strongest guy I know. Make them see it.”

Nodding, Peeta brushed a stray tear out of his eye and started walking down the opened path. He wasn’t going to be one of the people who the peacekeepers had to drag onto the stage. He would be strong.

In the center aisle, he held his head high and marched toward the stage with a purpose. He took a deep breath and walked up the steps. Effie held out a hand to help him and he gave her his most charming smile.

“Thank you,” he said, taking her hand to his lips for a slight kiss like he had seen in all those Capitol shows and interviews. He wasn’t going to let them see weakness, and Peeta’s strength was the ability to spew a bunch of crap and get people to like him. It worked on teachers, it would work on the Capitol.

Effie giggled, bringing her hand up to her face gently for a moment. “Oh, stop it,” she gushed, not at all sounding like she wanted him to stop. She led him over to the center of the stage and asked, “Are there any volunteers?”

Unlike with Primrose, no one stepped forward. The people of District 12 were looking up at him with suspicion and dislike. His show with Effie would be a hit with the Capitol—everyone there loved charming people—but it wasn’t here. Here, it was a betrayal. Here, it was disrespectful. Especially when standing next to someone like Katniss, who had just sacrificed everything for her sister.

It hurt more than Peeta cared to admit realizing that he would probably have his district dislike him while the Capitol swooned. It hurt, but he made a promise to Garnet. He would only let them see him strong. He was strongest when he was controlling a situation.

“Well,” said Effie, chirping away. “Let’s get a big round of applause for Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the tributes of District Twelve!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember where in the books it said that Peeta was sixteen. He's in Katniss' class, but I wrote this with the understanding thought that Panem's school would work as year-groups: anyone born from January 1st to December 31st is in the same year. At the same time, reapings don't occur until a child reaches twelve. So, Katniss and Peeta are in the same grade, but he is in a lower year group because I think he was born on December 12th.  
> I also made Haymitch the victor of his Games at 18 rather than 16 because Katniss always just said that he was around her age in the tape. So, I rounded up and said he was eighteen to add to the likelihood that he would have been reaped (someone 18 is more likely than someone 16).


	2. Chapter 2

The train ride to the Capitol was tense as Peeta and Katniss went over the shock of leaving. The food laid out in front of them was grand and extravagant. Peeta started to gorge himself on the rich and sweet foods, never having tasted anything so good.

Beside him, Katniss was doing the same. The two of them didn’t speak as they made their way through all the different foods on the table, taking second and third helpings of food as they had never been able to do in District 12.

Peeta could barely comprehend how someone could eat like this every day, but if the Capitol, did, he could understand why they were so entitled. Give him a meal like this every day and he’d start making bets on the Games as his price.

Effie seemed quite pleased with them as they ate, nodding approvingly. Unlike them, however, she was chattering away at them nonstop.

“I really must say you are my favorite pair of tributes yet,” she told them brightly, taking a sip of wine. “Last year’s pair was gripping the food in their hands and shoving it down their throats! It completely ruined my supper. At least the two of you have table manners.

Like a bucket of cold water had been splashed over his head, Peeta’s face fell, and he lowered his fork to the place. Last year’s tributes had been from the Seam. Likely neither of them had ever used a fork in their lives, and with a display of cuisine before them such as this, they probably wouldn’t have cared.

“Could you tell us what to expect, Effie?” asked Peeta pleasantly, choosing to ignore how snobby she sounded and sipping a sweet silvery drink. “Since Haymitch isn’t here, and all.”

His words set her off on a tangent, making Katniss glare at him. “Oh, of course, Peeta,” she answered kindly. “Everything here is for you, you know, but once we’re in the Capitol everything is bigger, grander, brighter, and yours! You’ll start out in the Remake Center to prepare for the Opening Ceremony. You know that. Then there will be three days of training alongside the other tributes so you can prepare for the arena. Haymitch and I will also be there to help you with your strategies—"

“Where is Haymitch?” Katniss snapped. Peeta felt glaring at Effie was unnecessary, but Katniss shot him a dark look. Clearly, she hadn’t forgotten his little show at the reaping. Great.

Before Effie could answer, the door slid open and Haymitch stumbled in. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair disheveled. Alcohol was spilling down the front of his shirt; which was inside out and buttoned wrong.

“Supper?” he slurred, looking at them.

Effie sniffled, and her nostrils flared. “Yes, Haymitch,” her voice was brisk. “Supper. Now put the vodka down and come join us.”

Katniss’ eyes narrowed at him. “You’re our mentor?” There was an accusation in her voice.

Haymitch looked blankly at her, grey eyes glazed. “Whazzat mean? ‘Curse Ahm yer men’or!”

His drunken words set her off. “So this old drunk is meant to save us?” her voice incredulous. “He can’t even properly button his shirt! He’ll do about as well saving us as he did the other tributes of District Twelve!”

Something seemed to snap in him at her words and Haymitch yelled; fist flying out and slamming into Katniss’ jaw.

Peeta leaped from his seat, jumping across the table. He gripped Haymitch’s struggling arms and pulled him away. He trapped Haymitch in a headlock with his other arm and hauled him out of the room. The man struggled down the hall until Peeta threw him into the lounge compartment. In there, he fell to the ground, rolling and coughing momentarily.

Effie had said the panels by the door would call Capitol Attendants to them. Peeta punched it and there was a light ding!

Haymitch was pushing himself to his feet; gasping wildly as he looked around his new surroundings. He had lost his vodka in the hall, but that did nothing for his already drunken stupor.

Taking pity on the man, Peeta led him over to the sofa and sat him down. He had to half-carry him, but he managed to get him to the seat. His head lulled back absently.

A Capitol Attendant opened the door and peeked into the room. “What can I help you with?”

Peeta stood up. “Get me something that’ll sober him up. And some food, please. He probably shouldn’t be around Katniss right about now.”

The man nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

When he exited, Peeta was left alone with Haymitch. The smells of various alcohols made Peeta cringe, but he sat across from Peeta tensely.

The lounge was lavishly decorated. The sofas were silver and blue throw pillows sat on them. A pristine glass coffee table sat between Peeta’s silver armchair and the sofa. A television screen hung on one wall, though it was currently off. A bar was in the corner of the room, but Peeta wouldn’t allow Haymitch near that until after they talked.

Peeta had made a promise to Garnet. He would show the Capitol how strong he was and come home. But he didn’t know how to do that. Sure, charming Effie at the reaping and smiling for the cameras was one thing. Being in the arena was something he would need a mentor for.

When the man returned, accompanied by three others carrying trays of food, he held a sterile white bottle in hand. The other attendants placed the food trays, lined with all different kinds of delicacies, on the coffee tables and left.

“This is a fast-acting sobering agent.” The attendant explained. “Feed it to him and he’ll sober up pretty fast.”

Peeta took the bottle and nodded. “Thanks for your help.” The attendant nodded and left.

Once the door had closed, Peeta rose and stood over Haymitch. Sighing, Peeta twisted off the cap and put it on the table. Then, he pulled Haymitch’s limp jaw back and began to pour the thick, frothy liquid down his throat.

Haymitch attempted to shake his head, grimacing as he did, but Peeta held it firm. “Sorry Haymitch,” he muttered as he poured. His squirming did get some of the liquid splashed in his face, wetting Peeta’s hand in the process. With the bottle empty, Peeta rubbed the strange liquid off on his pant leg while he waited for the drink to take effect.

Slowly, Haymitch’s eyes began to twitch, being pulled open dizzily. With a groan, he pushed himself up, swaying in his seat. The sobering agent was working swiftly. “What? What happened?” Already, his eyes were starting to focus, and the slur left his voice.

Peeta leaned back in his chair. He had never seen Haymitch sober before, he didn’t think anyone had, but he imagined him to be somewhat violent.

“You,” he breathed. “You attacked me!” Haymitch’s voice was deep and gruff when not slurred with intoxication. He stumbled to his feet, raising his fist as he did. When he swung, Peeta moved his head out of the way of the poorly aimed punch and Haymitch stumbled to the ground.

“You’re not completely sober yet,” Peeta told him matter-of-factly. The man struggled to push himself to his feet so Peeta continued. “I seriously doubt you’ve gone a day without alcohol in years, so you won’t beat me in a fight. Trust me. Don’t try.”

Accurate though his words were, Haymitch wasn’t done. “You think you’re so strong,” he growled, shakily pushing himself onto the sofa. “Let me tell you, Blondie, that won’t mean shit in the arena.”

Peeta smiled. “And now we’re getting somewhere.” Rising to his feet, Peeta stood over Haymitch. He grabbed a sliced ham sandwich off the bar and handed it to Haymitch. “So if strength won’t help me, why don’t you tell me what will?”

For the first time, Haymitch looked at Peeta not angrily, but appraisingly. A thick black eyebrow raised, and he smirked. “Well,” he said to himself. Louder, “Did I actually get a fighter this year?”

Peeta met his gaze steadily. “Maybe not yet,” he conceded. “But if you help me…”

Chuckling, Haymitch nodded. He fell back into the sofa and threw the sandwich down; instead picking up a plate of mashed potatoes and gravy. “Alright,” he agreed. “So you care to tell me how I’m sober?”

Nodding, Peeta threw the white bottle at him. Haymitch’s chuckle turned to all-out laughter when he saw it. “I take it an attendant gave this to you? Ha, fine, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll stay sober enough to help you if you agree to do everything I say. The Games aren’t a joke, and you’ll need me to help you figure them out.”

“Counter offer,” Peeta shot back, “You stay sober.” He paused. “That’s it.”

Haymitch just glared at him. “And what makes you think I’m gonna stay sober? ‘Cause you say do?”

“Because I’ll ask Effie to remove all the alcohol from the Training Center,” retorted Peeta, still smiling, “and she’s an escort; I’m sure she’d keep an eye on you if she needed too.”

The victor snorted. “You don’t think Beena’s tried this before?” The man leaned forward and smirked. “Didn’t work then.”

“Maybe not,” Peeta agreed, sweat forming on his brow. “But she wasn’t a tribute asking you to keep her alive.” He saw Haymitch flinch, and he jumped. “And I don’t think you want my death on your conscience.”

Haymitch glared mutinously, but he clenched his jaw. “You do everything I say,” he bargained. “Everything. Your training, your interview. Hell, if I tell you to go talk to Caesar in your birthday suit, you do it. Deal?”

At his words, a weight was lifted off Peeta’s shoulders. Even when he was going through the Games, at least he wasn’t completely alone. Better, still, the man at his back wouldn’t be drinking. “Deal,” he agreed. “So what do I need to know? The Games are in a week and tons will happen from now ‘till then. I need to know strategy, presentation, image—"

“One step at a time,” interrupted Haymitch. “Tomorrow we’ll be in the Capitol and your prep team will work to make you look good for the Opening Ceremony and other events. It might not be fun, but you’ll need it. Looks win sponsors and the Opening Ceremony is the first chance you’ll have to impress them. Got it?”

Peeta nodded. “But what about the Opening Ceremony?” he asked. “It’s based on district industry and Twelve always looks ridiculous. Won’t that turn sponsors off?”

Haymitch chuckled and shook his head. “We got new stylists this year,” he told Peeta. “They sent me their designs and trust me, you’ll be memorable.”

It might have been the chuckle, but Peeta looked apprehensively at Haymitch. “How can you possibly remember? You were drunk.”

“They were that memorable.”

Deciding to simply trust his mentor, Peeta sat down. “So listen to my stylist. Got it. Can you tell me how to act out there?”

Haymitch shrugged. “Nothing to say except be likable. Smile, wave, be friendly to the crowd. If you wanna win this thing, they’ll need to like you. When they like you they give you money and money gets you gifts in the arena. Plus, the Gamemakers tend to avoid traps on the well-liked tributes. It’s all about popularity. Keep them interested and you'll better off than a good half the tributes.”

“And the other tributes? How should I interact with them?”

His smile was sardonic. “Depends on the tributes and your strategy. If you’re gonna hide, then stay away from them. If you want an alliance, talk to them. See who can be useful and work with them.” Glancing at the time, Haymitch shook his head. “Let’s start the recap. We’ll get an idea who you’ll be facing.”

Attendants had come to take the plates away, leaving the room in pristine condition. Haymitch turned on the television and the anthem boomed. As it did, Effie led Katniss into the room. Both seemed surprised to see Haymitch sober. Seeing them talking, Katniss shot Peeta a dark look.

“You didn’t think to tell me he was sober?”

Peeta rolled his eyes. “He’s your mentor, too, Katniss.” He turned to the television. “You’re allowed to talk to him if you want. I promise I won’t stop you.”

“Maybe I will.”

Effie shushed them. “It’s starting.”

The reapings varied from district to district, and the tributes did as well. Districts 1 and 2 had some brutal looking boys. District 5’s girl, Finch, looked sly and calculating. The girl from 7 looked ill. 10’s boy had a crippled foot and had to limp onto the stage. The boy from 11 was massive, starkly contrasting his tiny twelve-year-old partner. Then there was Katniss volunteering for her sister, and Peeta getting reaped. The commentators were gushing over his meeting with Effie. He made sure to commit all the faces to memory.

When the reapings ended, the group sat in silence. Moments passed as they all took in the faces and names. They would be his competition. They were what separated him from home.

“You should get some sleep.” Haymitch looked keenly at Peeta. “You’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

“I want to talk to you before bed,” Katniss told him.

Haymitch nodded. “Alright. You stay behind. Peeta—bed.”

“See you in the morning,” he said, leaving the room. He didn’t get far before an arm gripped his shoulder.

“You think you’re able to get Haymitch all to yourself?”

“Aren’t you were supposed to be talking to him now?” he asked. “I’ve already told you I don’t care if he helps you. So long as he helps me, I’m okay.”

Katniss looked incredulously at him. “Then why did you drag him out of the room to talk? You were trying to stop me from seeing him, weren’t you?”

Take a deep breath, thought Peeta, she’s just stressed. Katniss had had a long day. “You two were arguing,” Peeta reiterated slowly. “He hit you. I thought it would be a good idea for you guys to separate.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he was sober?” Katniss snapped. “I want a decent mentor, too!”

“And that was why I didn’t tell you,” Peeta shot back. “We both want to win this thing. I’m not gonna go out of my way to make your life easier when I can be preparing for my Games! So no, I couldn’t tell you because, frankly, I don’t like my enemy knowing my strategies!”

With that, Peeta spun around and stormed into his room; slamming the door behind him.

His room was a sleek silver; furniture, walls, and doors the shimmery color. Peeta walked over to the dresser, pulling on black silk pajamas that were, oddly, his size.

Changed for bed, he walked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. The residual smell of Haymitch’s alcohol was caught in his mouth and nose and Peeta desperately wanted to get rid of it. He scrubbed his teeth with the new toothbrush that was provided for him—much nicer than the one back home he had used for nearly four years. Satisfied that the smell was gone, Peeta returned to his room before halting in the doorway.

Hadn’t Haymitch said that the prep team would be cleaning him up tomorrow? If he could take a shower, more efficient than any of the simple baths he had taken in the old metal tub in District 12, then they might warm up to him and make it easier. Nodding to himself, Peeta returned to the bathroom and stripped off his clothes for the shower.

It turned out that the shower was efficient but incredibly confusing. Peeta didn’t know what he was doing—he had only ever used a shower twice when spending the night at Madge’s house—and typed a bunch of commands into the panel resulting in random settings.

For his efforts, he was rewarded with water ten degrees below freezing shooting out at him from all sides making him cry out in shock. Hastily, he attempted to change the temperature, jumping up and down as the water hit, but his muscles relaxed as the water warmed.

As the water shut itself off, a pink rosy aroma began flooding the shower. Confused, Peeta looked at the control panel and noticed that rose scent was set to fill the room. Huh, he really needed to figure the showers out. But it did smell nice. Still, the water shut itself off and warm air blasted him furiously from all sides; drying him instantly.

Stepping out of the shower and pulling his clothes back on; Peeta felt oddly naked. His skin felt silky and smooth at the same time; like the shower had peeled off a layer of himself and revealed new healthy skin. It took him a few moments to adjust to the new feeling before he was comfortably lying in his bed, lulling into a deep sleep…

 _Peeta stood in a dark clearing. Light filtered down through the canopy of shadows and illuminated blackness. He wandered around for several moments, his feet moving across_ solid _darkness. The infinite black stretched out in all directions._

_It could have been hours or minutes for all Peeta knew. What he did know was eventually a spotlight formed in the distance. Hurrying forward, Peeta noticed that there was no air to breathe, but that meant little to him as he ran._

_Standing in the spotlight was the good-looking boy from 1. His brown hair was styled, and his green eyes looked coolly over Peeta._

_When he had first seen him, Peeta had thought the boy,[Marvel](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/vampirediaries/images/5/5e/S4_Stefan_HQ.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20121020221426&path-prefix=de), was deadly. Now he didn’t appear to be so. He was smiling kindly and beckoning Peeta forward._

_He wanted to get closer to the boy. How could someone so handsome have been thought so deadly? It must have just been a mistake from the cameras, Peeta decided._

_Marvel spoke something to Peeta. His lips moved, anyway. But Peeta couldn’t figure out what the words were._

_What? He tried to ask, though no words came out._

_But Marvel didn’t speak again. His smile grew colder and Peeta gasped as he felt a searing pain in his_ _stomach. Looking down, he was that Marvel gripped a bloody sword that protruded from Peeta’s stomach. Feeling his legs give out, Peeta collapsed._

_The ground was sticky and sloshing around, dipping about half his body in the liquid. Turning his head to the side, Peeta saw a figure in the darkness. He desperately tried to make it out, but his gaze couldn’t penetrate the darkness._

_Suddenly the darkness faded and Peeta found Marvel,[Cato](http://www.mikethefanboy.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/e9570eb40e.jpg) from 2, [Triton](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/100gamesvictorfanficstories/images/8/85/Triton_Rayerson.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180507200708) from 4, and [Thresh](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/100gamesvictorfanficstories/images/1/16/Thresh_Cordon.png/revision/latest?cb=20180518051122) from 11 standing in a clearing; bloody weapons in hand. They were laughing as three girls came running over to join them. [Glimmer](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/100gamesvictorfanficstories/images/3/37/Glimmer_Inchtape.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180506205104) from 1, [Clove](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/100gamesvictorfanficstories/images/a/a9/Clove_Marble.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180508210716) from 2, and [Algae](https://owless.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/pretty-little-liars-star-shay-mitchell.jpg) from 4._

_Around the clearing, around Peeta, were the bodies of all the other tributes. They were mangled and beaten with holes and wounds cut into their flesh. Blood was flooding from them and various body parts, limbs_ and _organs mostly, were scattered mercilessly around the clearing._

 _The group was walking toward him. Weapons were raised as they began stabbing and hacking him apart._ _Peeta felt warm sticky blood pool in his mouth and a sword descended on his neck…_

Sweat coated Peeta’s skin as he shot up. He gasped for breath as he glanced around the room anxiously.

It was just a dream, he told himself. “Just a dream.”

He pushed himself out of bed, wrestling with the tangled blankets to escape. Finally standing, Peeta wobbled under his own weight before managing to steady himself.

Walking into the bathroom, Peeta thought over his dream: there was darkness, Marvel, a wound, the Careers killing everyone. How could he have been so stupid going to Marvel? It had obviously been a trap!

He told himself it was just a dream, but Peeta couldn’t help going over the images in his head. He needed to be smarter. Stronger. Even if he couldn’t win… but no. He wouldn’t think like that. Winning was possible. Garnet believed in him. Madge and Delly, they believed in him. There were people waiting for him to come home.

Splashing water on his face, Peeta noticed his hair was disheveled and his eyes hauntingly wide. The dark shirt clung awkwardly to his skin, and he felt as if he were still bleeding to death.

For Peeta, the dream was worse than the reaping because it showed his future with haunting accuracy. Almost every year, certainly the last two, the victor was from a wealthy district. In those districts—1, 2, and 4—it was such an honor to win the Hunger Games that most children train their whole lives to compete.

The Careers, as they’re called, always ally with one another and hunt down the other tributes before taking each other out. Plus, with their experience and training, they always take control of the Cornucopia and its treasure trove of supplies at the start of the Games.

It was six-thirty so Peeta shrugged out of his sweaty clothes and stepped back into the shower. Cautious of the various settings, Peeta set the temperature, speed, and smells attentively to avoid another debacle. He let out a relieved sigh as the warm water cascaded over his coiled muscles. Steam filled the space as Peeta continued to go over his dream.

How could he win with the Careers hunting him down? They would have the supplies, skills, and energy that he simply wouldn’t. He could hide all he liked, but they would never stop looking. Unless…

Pressing the stop and auto-dry buttons, Peeta rushed out of the shower and into his room. He hastily changed into tight pants and an equally tight shirt that was laid out on his dresser and rushed out of the room. It was just like back home; Peeta got up around dawn and no one else bothered to get up, too.

At the end of the hall, Peeta banged on the proper door, thankful for the engraved sign telling me what room it was. For a few moments, nothing happened. And then the door banged open and Haymitch glared groggily at him.

“What do you want?” he snarled, rubbing his head. “It’s not even seven!”

His attitude did nothing to Peeta’s urgency. “I know it’s early, but I need to talk to you.”

Despite some choice words about Peeta’s timing, Haymitch agreed to talk to him.

He took a deep breath. “I need you to help me join the Careers,” he said plaintively.

Of all he might have said, Haymitch certainly didn’t expect that. His eyes widened, and he said “What?”

“The Careers,” Peeta repeated. “I need to join them. It’s the only way for me to win.”

“Where did you get such a crazy idea?” Haymitch asked.

“Last night,” Peeta told him. “I dreamed about the Games. About dying in the Games. And I know that it was a dream,” he said, cutting off Haymitch’s reply. “But I realized that I’ll need food and supplies that I can only get at the Cornucopia. But for that to happen, I’ll need to be off the Careers’ radar. If I’m their ally, they’ll let me get supplies. When numbers go down, I’ll take them out when they sleep or something. But they are the only chance I have of surviving.”

All was quiet for a moment as Peeta waited tensely for Haymitch to respond. The older man considered his words for a moment before shaking his head. “How will you know when to kill them?”

Peeta shrugged. “When taking them out will bring us down to the final five, maybe. Look, we’ll work out the details as we go along, but I’ll still need your help with this.”

Haymitch scoffed. “This is crazy.”

“But you’ll help me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you will, right?” Peeta tried another approach. “You said sponsors were the most important thing a tribute could have, right?” Haymitch nodded so he continued. “If I take out the Careers, sponsors will be lining up to give me money.”

Haymitch nodded at his words, leaning against the doorframe to consider. “It could work,” he agreed. He looked at Peeta warily. “But you’ll have to get their respect. Not just in training, but in the arena, too. You’ll have to kill.”

Could he kill? Peeta couldn’t imagine it. To take someone else’s life or die himself. Gulping, he nodded. “That’s the whole point of this thing, right?” He tried to sound sure. “I’ll do what I have too.”

“Then let’s prepare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that Peeta wasn't the enabler that Katniss is. Plus, because he isn't willing to just keel over for Katniss like in the books, he's going to be a lot harder on Haymitch to stay sober and help him. Ergo, he uses Capitol medicine to sober him up (I figure such a thing makes perfect sense considering how advanced I see them as) and forces Haymitch to help him


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to address a review that I got of my story in which someone said that they hoped that the story would not be slash because they were a straight guy and could not get invested in slash stories. I fervently disagree, but I'm not going to delve into this too deeply. Instead, I'll say that I wrote the story that came to me. Are the characters different from canon? Yes, that's the point. If someone doesn't like that, then feel free to leave. However, this is the story that I wrote, and I hope that everyone will give it a chance.
> 
> To clarify, though, there is a major gay character in my story. However, I have two sequels planned in which major characters are straight. In none of these stories, though, is their sexuality really relevant. This is primarily an action/adventure story of Peeta in the Hunger Games. Will there be romance in some way? Yes. But that is a long way off, and it it isn't the point.
> 
> I hope that clarifies things, but if not... well, I've already written it.

The Remake Center was a large building with dozens of rooms to be used by stylists for their tributes.  The rooms were sterile white, decorated to the stylist’s preference, and set up to allow the three members of Peeta’s prep team to maneuver around him whilst fixing any imperfection they found. 

Each tribute had their own personal prep team to work under a stylist.  In Peeta’s case, he had Caius, Remus, and Valeria.  They were the ones that greeted him as he entered the Remake Center room.

“Hello,” Peeta greeted them with a smile, drawing their attention to him.  “I’m Peeta Mellark and the Peacekeepers led me here.  I take it you’re my prep team.”

All three gasped and rushed over to where he stood, leading him over to a chair.  They told him to strip, and he did so worriedly.  When he sat down naked, they took a moment to go over his appearance. 

“You look stunning,” Valeria gushed.  The woman had sky blue hair frozen around her head in a bob and a wide toothy smile.  “I absolutely love your blue eyes.  The camera really didn’t do them justice!”

Peeta smiled, remembering a similar comment.  “Thank you,” he said.  “My best friend once told me that my eyes would be getting me dates.  Didn’t say anything about my winning personality, so I think he implied I was annoying.” He threw the last bit in to make them laugh.

And laugh they did, all quickly assuring him that he wasn’t annoying.  Caius, a man with long white hair and pearl-sheened skin was raving about his hair.  “It looks like such beautiful strips of gold!  It must shine in the sun!”

He made to reply when Remus, a short man with cat whiskers and orange hair cut in.  “Oh! and there isn’t a blemish on your skin.  You aren’t leaving much for us to do.”

“Perhaps he could use a shave,” consented Caius, as he looked him over.  “And I’ll style his hair to Portia’s requirements!”

Valeria looked put out.  “Oh!  I wanted to do his hair!  But I suppose I’ll just get his nails filed.” Picking up his hand, she grimaced.  “Goodness knows they need it.”

“Thank you for all your help,” he told them earnestly.  To Valeria, he shrugged.  “I’m sorry about the nails.  Being a baker tends to lead to such messy hands.  I hope it’s not too much trouble.”  The last part he said just to butter her up. 

It worked.  “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” she told him.  “This is what I’m here for.”

“Let’s get to work,” cried Caius, taking a comb and some gel and moving to his hair.

“Uh, can I get a robe or something?” he asked them hesitantly, hopeful not to offend them.  “If that’s okay.” 

It was, thankfully, and Remus handed him a thin robe to put on.  When he was ready, the three set to work. 

Caius wasn’t cutting his hair, he made sure to tell him.  The mysterious Portia, his stylist, wants his hair done in a certain way.  That way, Peeta realized was up.  Each strand was pulled up and maneuvered away from his face expertly.  Peeta watched as the image came together.  As each strand was put into place, Peeta could see another lick of golden fire forming on his head.

Valeria was on her knees, filing away at his nails to make them small, perfect ovals.  They needed to be functional, she told him, in the arena.  At the same time, she fingered the golden bangle around his right wrist.

“Well this is lovely,” she told him.  The golden bangle was shaped like tongues of fire circling his wrist.  “And it’ll be perfect with your costume.  Where did you get it?”

Peeta smiled softly.  “My best friend, Garnet, gave it to me for my token—his family owns the jewelry store.  He said it was a good luck charm.”

She nodded.  “Well it’s lovely, and it’ll be a hit in the Capitol.”

Remus was shaving any facial hair below his eyebrows, covering his cheeks with a silvery foam substance as he went.  It would stop hair from growing back, he assured Peeta.  Another part of his job was plucking a few stray hairs from between his eyebrows.  The plucks stung slightly as he did.

When they finished with him, they made him ditch the robe and led him over to a tub filled with a clear, bubbly liquid.  It was smooth to the touch as he sat down.  They told him not to get his hair wet, and instead took pads dabbed in the water to clear his face.  After he finished in the bath, they dried him off themselves and led him over to a floor length mirror.

His skin was smooth and pale, almost glowing.  However, instead of looking unnatural, he somehow looked as though he had lost the flaws on his skin, leaving only the good of his appearance.  His eyes were wide and shimmering with stunned fascination.

His hair was stunning.

Caius had done an excellent job on it; making it spike in fluid motions like flickering flames.  It glowed in the sunlight and looked as though it were real flames.  And yet, he had no trouble seeing himself in the reflection.  There was no makeup on him, and his face was completely visible with his hair up.

“You are all brilliant,” he breathed, and he meant it.

“You’re really quite handsome as it is,” exclaimed Valeria.

Remus agreed.  “So handsome.”

“There wasn’t much to do,” Caius squealed.  Looking at the time, he sighed dramatically.  “Only an hour until the Opening Ceremony.”

“It’s time to call Portia!” announced Remus, rushing off with the others in hot pursuit.  Now alone, Peeta pulled the robe back on and walked over to the large windows.

When he first arrived in the Capitol, it had reminded him of a cake in the bakery’s windows.  Everything was bright and lively, and beautiful but it couldn’t be real.  It was made to look larger than life, but it wasn’t substantial.  It was meant to be observed, not enjoyed.  It wasn’t rich in substance.

The colors weren’t like anywhere else in the world, though.  He longed to capture the greens and pinks and whites that could only be found here and look at them forever.  Hey, if he won he would get to see them again.

It was only when the door opened that Peeta turned around.  A woman stood in the doorway that must have been Portia.  His stylist had light brown skin with black makeup around her eyes and lips.  Her hair was a curly bleached blond that stuck out around his head like a cloud.  She wore tight black clothes and a bright white smile.

“Hello, Peeta.” Her voice was bright and melodic.  “I’m [Portia](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/cc/78/90/cc78909addde76009adb4315751e33b1.jpg).  Your stylist.”

Smiling, Peeta nodded.  “Hi Portia, I’m Peeta.  Nice to meet you.”

Portia walked toward him.  “Likewise.  Let’s sit down and have some food while we discuss your costume for the Opening Ceremony.”

Following her to a table set with more food than even the train, Peeta stared in awe.  Catching his look, Portia smiled.

“Help yourself,” she told him.  “It’s all for you.”

There had been nothing to eat since breakfast, almost nine hours earlier, so Peeta began eating as Portia talked.

“As you know, it’s customary to be dressed in accordance to your district’s industry.  For District Twelve, that would be coal mining.”

Every year, District 12 looked ridiculous because there simply wasn’t much stylists could do with coal mining.  Year after year, tributes were dressed up in silly miner outfits and headlamps.  It was embarrassing and did not bode well for Peeta.

“Haymitch said that your designs for this year were memorable,” he said, setting down a sandwich.  “Apparently it was able to breach his drunken haze.”

Portia laughed.  “Well, I’m glad to hear that it’s memorable.  Yes, my partner Cinna and I feel that that doesn’t represent the flare of your district.” She smirked at the word ‘flare.’  “So, we’ve decided to focus on the coal rather than on the mining.”

“So what you’re telling me is that I’ll be dressed as a giant rock.”  The image popped into his head of him being dressed as a massive lump of coal and he cringed.

Laughing at his reaction, Portia shook her head.  “Don’t worry,” she assured him.  “Nothing like that.  We were thinking along the lines of coal’s uses.  What do we make with coal?  Fire.”  Portia’s eyes widened and Peeta didn’t like where the conversation was going.

Portia spent the next twenty minutes going over the costume.  It was a black jumpsuit of sorts with a cape that would be ignited just before the Opening Ceremony began.  The suit, though, was stylized with glossy bumps and ridges like coal to highlight the design.

“Calm down,” she told him as he pulled on the jumpsuit.  “It’s just synthetic fire Cinna and I came up with.  It doesn’t burn.”  Despite her assurances, Peeta couldn’t stop his anxiety from building.

When she saw this, Portia rolled her eyes.  “Fine,” she said.  “Would you like a demonstration?” 

She reached into a cabinet and pulled out a vial of clear liquid and poured it on her hands.  Then, she took a match from the cabinet and lit it.  Her hand ignited, but she made no cries of pain.  After a moment of watching, Peeta relaxed slightly.

Somewhat reluctantly, Peeta nodded.  “Alright.  Let’s go set me on fire, but please don’t let me burn.”

Portia led him over to the elevator.  When the door closed, they shot down.  Peeta stumbled as the elevator went down, surprised that it went so fast.  True, he had been in it when he first arrived, but he had been worried about his outfit and hadn’t appreciated the ride.  They went from the Twelfth Floor to the bottom in thirty seconds!

Tributes were already in the departure room when they arrived.  Most were stuck to their chariots with mentors and stylists nearby.  Some were glaring at one another while others were merely staring worriedly into the distance.  Peeta looked at the District 12 chariot and saw only Haymitch present.

Importance-wise, the Opening Ceremony wasn’t the most important thing tributes went through.  Stylists simply dressed them all up and put on a parade.  The training scores and interviews were better for acquiring sponsors, but Haymitch said first impressions were everything and the Opening Ceremony was the chance to ‘wow’ the sponsors.

He might have been imagining it, but Peeta felt like the other tributes were glaring at him as he walked by.  Portia made him feel better, but Haymitch said he needed to appear independent so he walked a few feet in front of her.

“Good,” Haymitch grumbled.  Peeta was pleased that he was sober.  “Remember, tough and confident.  Don’t let them think you’re scared.  Effie and I have been talking to sponsors.  If you can put on a good show, you’ll get plenty.”

“Any advice on how to get the Careers to like me?” asked Peeta, glancing around.  “If this is the time for first impressions—”

“Worry about that later,” Haymitch cut him off.  “Sponsors mean everything.  If you can hold your own in a fight and have lots of ‘em, they’ll want you.  I’ll even talk things over with their mentors to get you in.”

He glanced over his shoulder and sighed.  Following his gaze, Peeta saw Katniss glaring at the ground as her stylist and prep team followed behind her.  “We’ll talk later.”

District 12’s chariot was black with a gold trim.  It was pulled by large coal-black horses kept in place by golden reins.  Katniss stood next to him silently, glaring ahead of him.

“Remember,” Haymitch told them.  “Make them like you.”

A man came over the loudspeaker.  “Tributes, load into your chariots.  The Opening Ceremony shall begin in five minutes.”

“Ready?” Peeta asked.  Katniss huffed and nodded.  They made their way onto a chariot when another man came forward.  At first, Peeta thought he was a mentor.  He wasn’t extravagantly dressed like other Capitolites, anyway.  He wore plain clothes and had no tattoos or injections.  In fact, were it not for the golden eyeliner, Peeta would have assumed he wasn’t from the Capitol at all.

“Time to light you guys up,” he told them, motioning to the torch in his hand.  He took the torch to both Katniss’ and then Peeta’s capes, igniting them instantly.  The fire spread across the entire cape and bathed them both in a warm orange light.  The other tributes began staring shrewdly at them as they stood.  The massive doors swung open and the screaming crowds were heard echoing across the Capitol.  The man, Peeta guessed he was Cinna, tried telling them something, but he couldn’t hear a word of it.

One by one the chariots rolled out.  District 1 was dressed in white and colored with jewels.  They looked stunning and Peeta sighed.  There was an announcement for them and the crowd cheered.

About five minutes separated each chariot leaving.  As the last tributes to go, they would end the night.  That was probably a good thing, thought Peeta, as they would stick out in people’s minds.  Plus, they’ll shine even brighter in darkness.

When District 11 rolled out, clad in outfits of bushes and plants, Peeta stood tall.  He looked ahead and took a breath.  Distantly he heard Katniss sigh, but that meant little to him.

Peeta smiled as they exited the building.  There were cries and exclamations from the crowd as they took in their burning appearance.  “Ladies and Gentlemen, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!  The tributes of District Twelve!”  As the audience realized what was going on, they started to go wild.  Peeta smiled and waved his hands as they cheered for him. 

Their faces were projected on screens and Peeta saw that he looked cool and confident while covered in flames.  Katniss, not so much.  She was noticeably uncomfortable and waved apathetically at the crowd.  Instead, she defaulted to glaring ahead and not looking at anybody.

People were throwing roses at their chariot and Peeta caught one, raising it like a trophy.  It drove the crowd nuts.  They rolled down the streets with cheers on all sides.

“Peeta!  Peeta!  Peeta!”

_Make them see it._   Garnet’s words rang in his head and Peeta smiled.  He didn’t know if they thought he was strong, but they were certainly seeing him.  He could just imagine Garnet, Madge, and Delly cheering him on in the sitting room of Madge’s home, thrilled about his entrance.  The first tribute from District 12 to make a splash in a century.

As they moved into the City Circle, creating a half-circle facing the president’s mansion, people continued to cheer.  By this point, the sun was setting; making their flaming costumes even more brilliant and noticeable.  The crowd’s cheers began to die away as the president walked onto a balcony.

President Snow was a small man with white hair and a beard.  Despite his size, he looked imposing while glaring out over the City Circle.  After a moment of waving, he began his speech.

“I would like to welcome you all,” he said, his voice echoing around the City Circle.  “To the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games.  To our honored tributes, good luck.  And may the odds, be ever in your favor.  Good night.”

Cameras moved along the line of tributes, standing on District 12 for quite a bit longer than the others as they departed back down the street.  The horses trotted into a sub-level of the Training Center, and when they were safely inside, Peeta jumped off his chariot.

Portia came rushing over holding a spray bottle that she used to extinguish the flames.  As she did this, she gushed to him.  “You were wonderful!  The Capitol loved you!  Congratulations!”

Effie and Haymitch arrived with Cinna and they, too, commended him for his effort.  At least he had done something right.

“As for you, sweetheart,” said Haymitch, turning to glare at Katniss.  “Good luck with sponsors now that you’ve shown everyone you’re a bitch.”

“Leave her alone,” Peeta scowled.  “Maybe they’ll take her disinterest for mysterious.”

Katniss sent him a withering glare.  “I don’t need your support, Baker Boy.”

Peeta narrowed his eyes at her.  “Fine,” he relented.  “What do I care if he’s honest with you?”

Haymitch guffawed as the group walked to the elevator, small talk being exchanged about the other tributes.  The Training Center had a floor dedicated to each tribute, so District 12 was at the top.  Their group filled the elevator and they shot up.

Portia offered to help him get out of his suit, the zipper was in the back and covered by the cape, so she walked him to his room and helped him change. 

“Everyone’s going to meet for dinner to discuss strategy,” she told him as he pulled a shirt over his head.  “He’ll help you each individually with your own strategies, but the general stuff, he’ll be talking about tonight.”

“So it’s the overall stuff?” he asked her as they headed to the dining room.

She nodded.  “Basically.”

They sat around the table as silent servants in white served turkeys and chickens to them.  Everyone ate, save for Katniss’ sullen self, and nothing off happened until dessert.

It was a cake with a fire burning on top that caused the issue.  “Is there alcohol on that?” asked Katniss, looking to the servant.  “That’s the last thing I wan—hey! I know you!”

The servant, a red-haired woman, shook her head vehemently.  The adults looked at Katniss oddly.

“Oh don’t be silly, Katniss.  How could you possibly know an Avox?  The very thought!”  Effie sounded almost hysterical.

Peeta looked confused and asked, “What’s an Avox?”

“A traitor,” said Haymitch shortly.  “They commit crimes against the Capitol, so they’re put to work as punishment.  They cut out their tongues, so they can’t talk.  It’s not likely you know her,” he told Katniss.

Katniss was unconvinced.  “But—!”

“Delly Cartwright,” Peeta put in, snapping his fingers.  His friend was the first girl whose face came to mind when trying to think of an excuse.  Maybe he had been pretending to go on dates with Delly and Madge too often, he thought absently.  “I thought she looked familiar, too.  But she’s a dead ringer for Delly.”

Katniss stared incredulously at him.  Come on, he thought desperately.  Take the help.  Slowly, Katniss nodded.  “That must be it.”

“Now that that’s settled,” said Cinna, steering the conversation away from the Avox.  “Yes, the cake does have spirits on it to make it burn, but all of those would have burned off by now, I assure you.  But I thought it was appropriate for the fiery debut you put on.”

“That Peeta did, maybe,” mumbled Haymitch into his water, earning a glare from Katniss.

Peeta cornered Katniss in the hall after dinner.  “Delly Cartwright,” he told her.  “Imagine seeing her look alike here?”

“Later,” Katniss told him, turning into the sitting room.  Effie was turning on the television as everyone settled to watch the recaps.  Peeta and Katniss sat on opposite sofas as the seal of Panem appeared and the anthem boomed.

District 1 got massive applause for their outfits.  “Not surprising,” Said Haymitch, “Luxury goods make it easy for them to look pretty.”

“And their stylists are very talented,” granted Portia.

“Though they,” Peeta pointed to the screen as District 2 tributes rode out in quarry worker garbs.  “Face the same problem District Twelve typically does.  Masonry isn’t exactly fashionable.”

“Maybe not, but they make up for it with training,” counters Katniss.

Haymitch chuckled.  “I remember two years ago, Beena said they oughta just change their industry to tribute production.”

Peeta and Katniss chuckled.  There was a reason that the district produced more victors than any other—though only by one, Madge had told him when they had discussed it—and it was because their industry wasn’t talked about as much as their Games performance.

For District 3, the stylists chose to dress their tributes up in suits and dresses made of wire.  It was interesting, but not completely fancy.

“They could have done better,” Effie said.  “Like them.” She pointed to the screen where District 4 was rolling out.  The girl, Algae, wore a flowing dress like water.  Her flowing brown hair cascaded down her back. 

And the boy, Triton, stood shirtless, his defined body exposed from the waist up with a trident in hand and tight pants designed to look like a fishtail.  His brown hair looked wet with water, and he wore a seashell necklace with a wide smirk on his face.

Peeta whistled appreciatively.  “At least the stylists know when to show off natural beauty.”

“They do show her off quite well, don’t they?” said Portia, while Cinna looked at him interestedly.  Peeta blushed when he realized he said that comment aloud.

Districts 5 and 6 were both dull, dressed as scientists and train conductors respectively.  And 7 were dressed as trees.

“Well, that’s nice,” complimented Effie as District 8 rolled out.  They are dressed to the nines with the girl wearing a billowing purple gown.  Her district partner wore a tuxedo accented with an identical purple. 

Cinna agreed.  “It’s sort of generic, though.  They always dress in fancy clothes, so it really isn’t memorable.”

“Which can only help us,” pointed out Haymitch.

District 9 was dressed as farmers.  District 10 was dressed like cows. 

District 11 has the most polar tributes of the entire year.  On one hand, the male tribute, Thresh, was a massive block of person towering over everyone.  His district partner, Rue, was a tiny little girl that looked as though she was a fragile branch of a tree.

The two of them rolled out and the others again complimented him on his performance whereas Katniss was mostly ignored.  They watched the president give his speech again, and the screen goes black.

The others talked about the possible tribute threats, and Peeta turned to Cinna.  “Cinna,” he asks.  “Are tributes allowed on the roof?”

Cinna seemed surprised but nodded.  “Tributes can go to the roof,” he confirmed.  “It’s pretty windy, but they don’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t they be worried about tributes killing themselves?”

“There’s a forcefield to prevent something like that from happening.  Why do you ask?”

Peeta shrugged.  “Just want some air.”  And that was that.

Haymitch looked at him and Katniss and said “You should probably get to bed.  Training starts tomorrow, and you want to be fully awake for it.”

Both of them nodded and said goodnight.  Outside the room, Katniss turns to Peeta and said, “It’s really quiet.”

Peeta got the hint.  “Wanna go up to the roof?  Cinna was just telling me that we’re allowed up there.  It’s really windy though.”

Katniss nodded and followed him to the elevator, both shooting up to the roof.  Peeta had been right; it was windy.  There was a small garden filled with wind chimes on one side of the roof.  Katniss walked out to the edge and sighed. 

“It was a few years ago,” she confessed.  “Gale and I were hunting when we saw them.  I’m sure it was the same girl.  She and a boy were running through the woods.  A hovercraft came and killed him.  Then, they took her away.”

Her eyes looked over the city, lost in the memory.  Peeta felt sorry that she had to see the girl again.  She was something Katniss clearly regretted.  “You think they were from here.”

“They had that Capitol look to them,” she confirmed.  “But why? Why would anyone want to leave here?”

Conscious of the listening, Peeta spoke loudly.  “I’d leave here.”  His loud voice surprising her for a moment.  “I’d go home if they’d let us.  But you’ve gotta admit, the food’s fantastic.”

Peeta pushed away from the edge.  He held out his hand and said “It’s getting pretty late.  We should go back.”

Katniss ignored his hand, but she did follow him back to the elevator.  When they reached the twelfth floor, they parted ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never understood Katniss in the original book. She was very much uncomfortable in the spotlight, but she always seemed to perform well in front of a crowd. Granted, not as well as Peeta, but it annoyed me how her personality seemed to shift as the situation demanded while people called her genuine. I decided to make her uncomfortable in front of the crowd for two reasons. One, I think it's truer to character, and two, it distinguishes Peeta as the star rather than Katniss.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning after the Opening Ceremony, Peeta walked into the dining room and saw Haymitch and Effie sitting with breakfast on their plates.  They were talking amicably, which was more than Peeta had ever dreamed.  Curious, he stood back and watched the two.

“So, how is she?” Effie asked, arms folded in front of her on the table.  She was shooting Haymitch a supremely concerned look.

“You know Beena,” he said, huddled over a cup of coffee.  “Bossy and loud.  She’s been ordering the doctors around like she was President Snow since she got there.  Of course, I show up and she starts ordering me around.”

“Well,” huffed Effie, “You could use someone to keep an eye on you.  I’m worried,” she said.  And Peeta’s eyes widened.  Her voice was calmer, sincere.  “It’s been two days without a drink and you’re already dealing with withdrawal.”

It was true.  Sobriety wasn’t doing Haymitch much good.  His eyes were bloodshot and baggy, his hands shook, and he slouched, nearly falling over.  It made Peeta feel bad about forcing him to stop drinking, but it had to be done.  Still, it was nice to know that Haymitch was putting in the effort.

“B said the same,” grumbled Haymitch, throwing some sausages onto his plate, and it looked like he was pouting.  “Only she wasn’t at all worried.  Said it was about damn time I cleaned up my act.”

“Oh no, I agree with that,” replied Effie, waving a hand.  “I’m just worried you’ll kill a tribute before it’s all out of your system.”

“Don’t worry, Eff,” Haymitch said, definitely pouting now.  “I’ll be fine.  It’s just for the Games.”

Effie pursed her lips but said nothing.  The two sat in silence for a few moments before Peeta announced his presence.

“Good Morning,” he said.

Haymitch beckoned him forward.  “Let’s talk strategy before the other one gets here.”

Peeta did as he was told and sat across from Haymitch.  “Shouldn’t we wait for Katniss?” he asked.  “I mean, she’ll want to know—”

“This is your strategy,” Haymitch told him.  “And it needs to be good.  The Careers won’t work with just anyone.  You need to show them some skill.  What are you good at?”

Questions like that would typically elicit a modest response from him—Delly was constantly telling him that he needed to see how great he was—but now wasn’t the time for modesty.  “I came in second in the school’s wrestling tournament to my brother.”

He nodded.  “And?”

Peeta shrugged.  “Well, I guess I can lift a lot,” he conceded.  “The flour bags I have to carry weigh around two hundred pounds each, and I carry two at a time.”

It took a moment for Haymitch to answer.  Finally, he nodded.  “Alright, here’s what you do: show them how much you can lift.  Make a show of it.  Wrestling, hand-to-hand combat, weight lifting are your friends in the Training Center.  Make sure that you work on those skills.”

He nodded.  “But what about weapons?  Should I try to pick up on them?”

“Don’t worry about weapons.  At least, not yet.  Make an impression before you go for the big guns, alright.  Once you get in with them you can try some knives and swords, but only if they like you.”

And if they don’t like him?  Haymitch was running under the assumption that he had what it took to win, but what if he didn’t?  What if they didn’t want to work with him?

“Peeta, you’ll be fine,” assured Effie, voice more familiar than the understated tone she had used with Haymitch.  “I’ve already been speaking with my sister Pulveria, she’s a Gamemaker, and she’s really very interested in you.  Quite taken, I would say.  And she tells me she’s not the only one.  Apparently, Junius Fellon, Lyra Demorrow, and Majora Cantor are all intrigued by you as well.”

The names meant little to Peeta, but Haymitch seemed pleased with so much interest from the Gamemakers.  Personally, Peeta thought that Effie way just exaggerating, but he smiled at her.  “Thanks for looking out for me, Effie.”

She waved away his thanks.  “It’s my job to ensure you have the best possible chance in the arena, and if that means—”

“Talking to the Gamemakers when you aren’t supposed to?” Haymitch teased.

Effie’s cheeks flushed pink under her powder.  “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she decided.  “I wasn’t talking to a Gamemaker.  I was talking to my sister.  It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter.  Let’s change the subject.”

Before they could discuss anything else, the door opened, and Katniss walked in.  Haymitch looked at him and mouthed “Later.”

Katniss sat next to Haymitch and pulled a plate toward her.  They ate in silence for a few moments, and then Haymitch began.  “Now Katniss, your job during training is to keep your special skills, in your case I know that’s archery, to yourself.”

“How do you know I can shoot?”

Haymitch looked at her like she’s stupid.  “I drink at the Hob, you know.”  Katniss blushed at his statement.  “Anyway, you need to make sure that the other tributes don’t know what your skills are.  If they do, they’ll know how to fight you.  Save archery for your private session with the Gamemakers.”

While Haymitch went over his plan for Katniss, Peeta took a sip of the hot chocolate left out for him.  It was sweet and sugary, and he downed the entire cup in one swallow.  Calling an Avox over, Peeta asked for a second cup.

His mind continued to think of the ‘what ifs of his plan.  What if the Careers didn’t want him?  What if he was awful at training?  Option two would lead to option one, but he ignored that.  What if they claimed to want him, but really planned to kill him in the arena? 

It wouldn’t do for him to focus on those things.  Peeta had compartmentalized his brain to keep hard topics from overwhelming him.  Already, his family, morality, Delly, Garnet, and Madge had been shoved inside of it.  Now, he took all the doubts he had and shoved them inside, too.  All there was to think about now was his plan to get with the Careers and win.

“Pay attention, Peeta,” snapped Haymitch, breaking him from his reverie.  Katniss gave him an unsure look as he looked to Haymitch.  “This is something both of you need to know.”

He nodded.  “I’m listening,” he insisted.  “What do we need to know?”

The man continued.  “Surviving in the arena comes down the three things: brains, sponsors, and survival skills.  While you’re in training, learn to build a fire, both of you.  Edible plants and snares are essential if you hope to win.  The Careers can fight, but they’re hopeless if they can’t feed themselves.  If they can’t and you can.”  His eyes zeroed in on Peeta.  “You’ve got a chance.”

“What about weapons,” he pressed.  “Are there any that are easy to learn?  You know, that the basics are simple.”

A moment of silence followed while Haymitch considered Peeta’s words.  “A knife,” he decided.  “Maybe a sword.  Just try to get a feel for them.  Make yourself look good.”

“But you just said don’t draw attention to ourselves,” protested Katniss.

Haymitch rolled his eyes.  “Not you,” he spat.  “Him.  In case you haven’t noticed, he’s a bit bigger than you.  He can’t pull off a weakling act.  Might as well establish himself as a strong competitor while he can if they’ll be thinking it anyway.”

Katniss seemed affronted.  “And I’m not intimidating?” she demanded, shooting to her feet.

“Sit down,” barked Haymitch.  “And you certainly don’t look it!  That is a good thing.  Embrace the fact that they won’t immediately target you.  Pull a Johanna Mason if you can!  Pride has no place in the arena, so you had better get rid of yours.”

“Training time,” trilled Effie anxiously, looking between the two.  “Come now, you two, it’s time to get down to the Training Floor.  Let’s go!”

“I hope you’re not going down with them,” deadpanned Haymitch.  “How can they hope to look independent for the Gamemakers if they have a babysitter?”

“Well,” Effie began and sighed.  “Alright.  Let’s go.”

“Actually,” Peeta said, looking to his mentor.  “I need to talk to Haymitch.  I’ll be out in a minute.”

Katniss glared at him.  “I’ll stay to hear it, too.”

“I don’t want you to hear,” he told her plainly.  “It’s private.”

“And…”

“Has nothing to do with the Game you’re playing,” cut in Haymitch.  “Now get out of here so we can talk.”

She stood there for a few moments, before storming out of the room.  Peeta fought back the urge to feel bad for her.  Katniss was just trying to survive, and it had to be terrifying to know that these potentially life-ending discussions were going on when you were asked to leave the room. 

Still, she was his enemy now, and he had to focus on surviving.  When the door was closed he looked to Haymitch.  “Any other advice that you didn’t want to say in front of Katniss?”

Haymitch looked at him with approving bloodshot eyes.  “Axes and maces,” he said.  “They basically require brute strength, so they shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out, but they’re impressive.”

“And the Careers would appreciate it,” he commented.  “They look more impressive than they actually are.”

“You catch on quick,” commented his mentor.  “But you’re right.  If you can get a grasp on them, you’ll probably be able to fool them into thinking you’ve had years of training.”

Peeta speculated over the idea.  “Will they notice me learning the skills?  They might figure it out if I have problems from the start.”

“They won’t,” Haymitch assured him.  “They’ll only notice you if you’re really good.  Bad to mediocre they ignore.  If they ask you to sit with them, do it.  You’ll want to get on their good side while you can.”

Effie burst back into the room, positively flustered.  “Honestly,” she cried.  “Peeta only has five minutes to get down to training.  So you’ll have to finish up what you want to tell him later.  Now, move!”

She ushered him out of the room, telling him Katniss had already gone down without him, and that he was likely the last to arrive.  “The Training Floor is L2 so head down there immediately,” she insisted.

He smiled.  “Thanks, Effie,” he told her.  “I’ll be fine.  I’ll see you after training.”  With that, he stepped into the elevator and watched as the doors closed. 

Without the shock of the Opening Ceremonies, Peeta could appreciate the speed of the elevator.  It was completely glass: walls, floor and ceiling, and you could watch the floors zip by you as it shot down.  Peeta’s eyes widened as he plunged underground, watching as the metallic earth rose and swallowed him.

There was a ding and the elevator stopped.  Glass doors opened into a uniform steel room with double doors labeled ‘Training Room’ directly across from him.  Peeta’s steps echoed around the room as he walked forward.  His hand gripped the cool metal handle and he pulled it open.

Inside was a huge room with dozens of little stations lining the walls.  Some were lined with weapons and targets, human-shaped dummies with markings for organs across them.  Others were little nature scenes where tributes could practice survival skills and get a feel for wilderness surroundings.  Ropes and swings hung from the ceiling and beams while moving floor panels and swinging columns made up an obstacle course.

People, experts most likely, were at the stations, but the tributes were in the center.  Their heads turned to look at him as he entered.  Smiling sheepishly, he waved.

“Don’t mind me,” he said to the silent room.  “Continue.”

Most of the tributes glared at him, Katniss among them.  The Careers, too, were glaring, but the boy from 2 and the girl from 1 looked him over speculatively.  Peeta couldn’t keep the slight blush on his cheeks. 

“Don’t worry,” the trainer in front of him assured.  “I just started explaining how training will work.  I’m Atala, by the way.”  Turning back to the group, she continued.  Peeta walked to join them as the glares subsided.  “As I was saying, there are three stations you are required to go to and three tests you must take.  Afterward, you are free to do as you choose.  My advice is don’t ignore the survival skills.  Wielding an ax or sword may look fancy.” Her voice was solemn. 

“But exposure can kill you just as easily as an ax.  In fact, forty percent of you will die in combat, fifteen percent from Gamemaker traps, and forty-five percent from the arena itself.  Now, feel free to disperse to the stations.  Instructors are on standby to assist if asked but remember, no fighting each other.  You’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena.  Now, let’s begin.”

Peeta started over to the sword-fighting station.  Picking up a long sleek blade with deadly sharp sides, he gripped the hilt firmly as he tried to get used to the weight.  The instructor, a woman named Lorna, came forward and adjusted his stance.  “If you grip the sword with two hands,” she told him.  “It gives you more power and control.”

“I take it that only amateurs use one hand,”

Lorna chuckled.  “Well, it does give a longer extension, but when you’re learning it’s best to have control.”

After about ten minutes of prepping, he stepped into the training circle.  Six human-shaped dummies surrounded the circle.  He raised the sword and swung.  It hit something hard and the sword jerked as he pushed it down.  He glanced at his target.  The sword had embedded itself in the dummy’s shoulder, slicing into one of the red dots that represented a lung or something.

Stepping over to the next dummy, Peeta shoved the blade through its stomach.  Beads of sweat were forming on his brows and his muscles were beginning to burn.  Shrugging it off, he stepped over to the next dummy.  Stab.  The next one.  Stab.  The next one.  Stab.  The next one.  Stab.  A heart.  A lung.  A spine.  A stomach.  He panted as he watched each dummy’s light blink and extinguish.

There was a rest area in the Training Room, but Peeta only took a water.  Gulping down the cool liquid, feeling the relief as it quenched the feeling in his parched throat, Peeta looked to see where he should train next.  Well, he thought to himself, Haymitch said to practice with axes.  With that thought in mind, he walked over to the ax-wielding station.

“Excuse me,” he said to the instructor.  Their name tag read Terminus.  “Would you be able to show me this?”

The man, whose eyes were slit pupils and an odd green, smiled.  “Of course,” he said in a deep voice.  He picked up a practice ax and handed it to Peeta.  “You see,” he explained.  “An ax has to be gripped tightly and swung forcefully.  It would take too long for you to learn the more intricate techniques.  Just make sure that you keep the blade on target and you don’t even necessarily need to hit something vital for it to be damaging.”

“Am I gripping it right?” he asked, showing Terminus his hands.  The man looked at his grip and adjusted it slightly.

“This’ll give you a bit more control when swinging,” he told him.

Peeta nodded and stepped into the practice area.  Ten more targets.  With a grunt, he swung.  The blade pierced the dummy’s arm, and it hung limply at its side, useless.  Swinging again, higher this time, Peeta cut into the thing’s neck.  And so it went.  It was difficult to measure his skill when the targets weren’t moving, but he was at least adept at making very deep cuts. 

One dummy was so mutilated it at pieces of its supposed intestines littering the floor around it from the severity of the wounds.  Peeta’s arms burned as he worked, but he refused to stop until he had taken down every dummy.  When he succeeded, he walked out of the area, thanking Terminus, and carefully ignored the carnage in his wake.

Every muscle seemed to burn in his body and even the water didn’t help.  He looked around the room for something easy to do.  The other tributes were spread out.  The Careers and a few braver souls were trying their hands at the weapons, but people primarily stuck to the survival skills.  Only the edible plants' station was empty, so Peeta walked over to it.

Of what he had done, the test was by far the hardest.  It wasn’t just moving his arms and directing a weapon.  Now he had to deal with memory and similarities between plants.  On his first try, the test declared him dead by his third pick.

Looking back at the options, Peeta committed the edible ones to memory.  Better to know what specifically he could eat and only go for that rather than memorizing all the plants and risk mixing them up.

Returning to the test, he made the correct decision ten out of twenty times.  Now looking at even more edible plants to commit to memory, Peeta tried again.  Eighteen out of twenty.  He took the test twelve more times, getting a perfect score on the final three, before moving on.  His limbs were feeling better, so he supposed he was alright. 

Just before he could head to the knife station, lunch was called.  There was a cafeteria just off the Training Room and they were expected to eat together before heading out for the afternoon sessions.  The perimeter of the room was lined with tables overflowing with food.  Tributes moved around said tables, loading plates with what they wanted.  Most tributes chose to sit alone, but the Careers sat together, loud and cocky, in the center of the room.

Peeta filled his plate with a bit of food, just a sandwich and a loaf of bread, and walked across the cafeteria.  As he passed the Careers, the girl from 1, Glimmer, and the boy from 4, Triton, watched him walk by.  Sighing to himself, he walked over to an empty table and sat down.

He was picking apart his bread when Katniss came over.  Actually, stormed over would be more accurate.  She glared at him as she sat down, looking uncomfortable in the room.  

“What do you think you’re doing?” snapped Katniss, her voice barely above a whisper.  “Haymitch said to stick to survival skills!  The Careers are talking about you, I heard them.  They’re thinking about recruiting you!  Now you’re a target!”

“So?” asked Peeta calmly, a part of him enjoying her reactions.  “Why do you care?”

A blush crept across Katniss’ cheeks.  “I-I don’t!  I just don’t want you to be a target.  You winning would help my family if I can’t.”

Peeta smiled and leaned forward.  “It’s fine,” he assured her.  “I get that you care about your family.  That’s great.  But don’t worry about me.  I know what I’m doing.”

Katniss glared at him.  “Fine,” she snapped.  “I was just trying to help.” she rose to her feet.  “Get yourself killed.  See if I care.”

He felt bad.  She had come over here to warn him, which he knew she didn’t have to do.  She was trying to help him.  It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t know what his plan was.

With Katniss gone, Peeta returned to his food.  So the Careers were thinking of recruiting him?  That was good.  All he needed to do was succeed in training and he was in.

After throwing away his trash, Peeta returned to training.

His afternoon session consisted of more ax and sword training.  Both Lorna and Terminus seemed confident in his abilities.  He mostly made lethal hits, but Lorna thought it best to train with an actual person.

The two of them stood in the center of a ring.  Both used blunt weapons as they charged at one another.  The blade struck blade with a clang as they hit.  Lorna was more skilled, using her smaller frame to weave around him and duck away from his hits before they landed.  However, he was significantly stronger, and his hits were devastating when he landed them.  Once, he used the flat of his blade and pummeled her out of the circle and ending the spar.

“Wow,” she complimented, heavily breathing as she came over.  “You’re pretty good at this.  You sure you haven’t done this before?”

Peeta smiled.  “I wish,” he groaned.  “But there aren’t any swords in District Twelve so unless you count playing tribute with my friends Garnet and Madge when I was six with twig swords…”

Lorna laughed.  “Well, those twigs taught you well.  Oh, no I did that.  And it’s only been a day.”

“That you did,” he agreed.  “Now let’s see how much more you can drill into me.”  And so they continued.

When Atala announced the end of training, the tributes were told that they were to return to their floors and training would resume the following day at eleven.

Everyone filed over to the elevators.  Most seemed to cluster into random elevator cars, but the Careers stuck together and took one for themselves.  The girl from 2, Clove locked eyes with him and motioned for him to join them.  After a moment’s hesitation, he did so.

About ten seconds into their elevator ride, Marvel slammed his fist onto the ‘Stop’ button.  The elevator shuddered to a halt and Peeta glanced around the car.  They seemed to form a semicircle as they backed him into the sealed door.  Most smirked, but Peeta refused to let them scare him.

“Listen here, Twelve,” growled Cato.  “We’ve been talking and figure you could be useful.  Doesn’t always happen, but we’ve decided we’ll let you join us.”

Perfect.  Peeta smirked and raised an eyebrow.  “At least you know I’ll be useful.  Most people back home wrote me off too soon.”

Glimmer smiled.  “Their loss is our gain.”  Stepping forward, she held out her hand.  “You in?”

Smiling, Peeta took it.  “I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Radio Free Death: First, I wanted to thank you for your review; you pointed out a lot of things that I hadn't been thinking of when writing. Second, I wanted to address my mindset of how poor the Merchants were since I don't think it was clear. As I see it, the average Merchant can comfortably feed themselves and a child solely with their income from the store. More children, though, require more food and they can't afford that. In an ideal world, that would be where tesserae come in (according to the Capitol). As such, they are required to give most of the food that doesn't sell to the mines two days after it is made but doesn't sell. That food that they're able to keep for the third day is the food that they eat. As for the pigs-because, you're right, that is a sign of wealth-I could be wrong, but I specifically didn't include the pigs for the very reason you mentioned. Finally, to the point about Barley and Rye, it's important to recognize who's talking. Peeta is the youngest child who has been routinely abused by his mother while his brothers weren't. What's more, he is the best baker in the family. He and his father are the primary bakers, while his brothers are not. Barley-who is going to own the bakery-can bake, he's just not as good as Peeta. Rye isn't a baker, but he's not going to be involved in the business. Based solely on skill, Peeta should inherit the bakery, and he knows it. When talking about his siblings, he tends to be a bit short with them. That's not to say that they aren't involved in the business, it just means that Peeta's a bit bitter about his situation compared to theirs.


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner was tense that night.  No strategy could be discussed with both tributes in the room, and neither Peeta nor Katniss were particularly inclined to discuss anything else.  Cinna and Portia weren’t there, off preparing for the interviews no doubt, and even Effie could sense the tension between the two and held her tongue because of it.

With his dinner finished, Peeta rose.  “I’m done,” he declared.  “Haymitch,” he addressed his mentor.  “I’ll be in the living room.  You and Katniss should discuss her strategy while I’m in there.  When you’re done, can someone come get me?”

Katniss looked at him oddly as he spoke, almost surprised that he was telling Haymitch to speak with her.  He didn’t even bother letting himself get annoyed with her and simply walked out of the room.

He sat on the sofa, staring out the window and into the beautiful Capitol night.  He was in.  The most dangerous tributes wanted to work with him.

Peeta imagined that his friends would support his idea.  The rest of the district—his parents and brothers included—would be denouncing him as a traitor, but that was alright with him.  Garnet, Delly, and Madge would understand.  Hell, he thought ruefully, Garnet would get a kick of how well he was showing off to the Capitol.

It was a half hour later when Haymitch entered the room.  "I'm in," said Peeta, straight to the point. 

Haymitch chuckled to himself and walked over to the bar.  He poured himself a generous glass of some bubbly drink and put the bottle back.  His shoulders seemed to shake as he meandered over to a sofa.  "Good," he complimented, taking a sparing sip.  "Now we need to work out the details.  Careers rely on the Cornucopia and sponsors.  If the Cornucopia's destroyed, what'll they do when the sponsors stop paying?"

Peeta plopped himself down in an armchair, pondering the words.  "I don't know, die?  If they can't get supplies…"

"They're fucked," Haymitch deadpanned.  "That's when non-careers win.  That's what you'll need to use for you to win.  Right now, yeah, you're in, but you're also first to go.  They've had an idea about the kinds of tributes they'd be facing for years.  There’s a bit of variety, but they've got similar mindsets."  He placed his empty glass down.  "A talented District Twelve kid?  You're the wild card that they'll take out as soon as things get serious."

"So then what?" asked Peeta, panic rising.  "I can't face all of them.  I'll be slaughtered.  When do I know I should get the hell outta there?  What…?"

The man held up a finger.  "That's why we need to work out the details.  Do you have some skill that they need while in the arena, say plant gathering?  Something that would make you worth keeping around.”

Peeta grimaced.  “No,” he admitted.  “I mean, I worked at the edible plants' station, and I did alright, but I’m not sure I’d bank my life on it.”

Haymitch cursed.  “Well,” he said, “then I’d work on going back to that station a couple of times.  Figure out the ins and out of the plants so you’ll know what you’ll be dealing with.  Learn everything you can and be ready for when the supplies are destroyed.”

Maybe, but Peeta wasn’t sure if that plan could hold water.  “All this is going off of the assumption that their food supply will get destroyed,” he pointed out.  “The purpose of joining them was to have access to those supplies.”  He was becoming slightly frantic now as all the nerves from the day started to boil over.  “And-and even if I could survive without their supplies, and I’m not sure I can, then you can’t expect me to destroy them.  If I get caught I’m slaughtered!  H-how can I-”

“Breathe,” Haymitch ordered forcibly, grabbing his shoulders.  “You’re right,” he acknowledged.  “There’s no safe way to get rid of the supplies. 

“But things have been getting boring in recent years,” he confided.  Peeta looked up at him oddly.  As far as he could tell, the Games had been going as they always did for as long as he could remember.  “The careers have basically dominated the Games since they started popping up forty years ago.  Since that time, non-Career winners have become almost nonexistent.  Most districts only have two or three winners since then, and that is because the cornucopia is sometimes destroyed.  Every few years, it happens.  They want some variety in the victors, and the best way to do that is to take out the typical winners’ food supply.”

“The last non-Career victor is Johanna Mason in the Seventy-First Games.”  Peeta thought back carefully.  “But before her, the most recent non-Career victor was… more than ten years ago!”  He smirked at Haymitch.  “I take it one isn’t enough?”

Haymitch smirked.  “And you get it,” he declared.

“More than that,” Peeta pushed on.  An idea was building in his head of what Haymitch was suggesting the Gamemakers’ strategy would be.  “They wouldn’t want to destroy the cornucopia if the other tributes are too flimsy to seize their advantage.”  Haymitch nodded approvingly so he continued.  “This year, they’ll have me, who—like you said—is proving himself to be dangerous, and Thresh, who is clearly dangerous.  Add in Katniss who, likable or not, is a great hunter and they’ll take advantage this year.”  Peeta was certain he had figured it out.

He was right.

“Very good,” Haymitch huffed, removing his hands from Peeta’s shoulders.  The man walked over to a sofa.  He picked up a glass of water—he really was trying to stay sober and Peeta was grateful for it—and chugged it.  “So,” he said after putting down the now empty glass.  “Learn to find food.”

“I’ve already been working with the edible plants' station,” he repeated.  “It took me a few tries, but I got some solid scores.”

The two sat in silence as Peeta calmed himself.  Haymitch’s logic was sound, but he kept replaying the Games he had seen growing up.  All of them ended with the tributes from 12 dead in a bloody pool… often due to the people he was allying with.  Maybe…

No.  He couldn’t think like that.  Peeta shook himself from his stupor and looked to Haymitch.  The man was enjoying what looked to be grape juice, but he paid the lack of attention no mind.  “What about sponsors?” he asked.  The man looked at him.  “Have you spoken to any yet?”

Much to Peeta’s relief, Haymitch nodded.  “Portia’s a godsend, let me tell you.  She and Cinna have made you the most noticeable tribute yet.  Add that to some choice comments from the Gamemakers and people are thinking you’ve got a real shot.  A few have already signed up to sponsor you.”

For the first time all day, Peeta smiled.  “So if I do well with the training scores and interview…”

“You’ll be swimming in sponsors,” finished Haymitch.  He set his drink down and leveled with Peeta.  “At this point, all you can do is make yourself memorable.”

“Well,” Peeta said, standing.  “Then I’ll be remembered.  Good night.”

Katniss glared at him as he passed her in the hall.  She strode into the living room that Haymitch still occupied.  The girl slammed the door behind her, and Peeta stalked to his room. 

After stripping down to his underwear, Peeta drifted off to sleep…

_He was running around the cornucopia, sword in hand, but the scenery beyond was nothing.  The ground was soaked with blood and strewn with bodies that lay in heaps around him.  A cry drew his attention to a hulking figure rushing toward him._

_Peeta raised his sword as Thresh from 11 came running at him.  Thresh dodged and threw a harsh jab into his stomach.  Peeta gasped as the wind was knocked out of him, and his sword thumped to the ground.  He stumbled away as Thresh picked up his fallen weapon.  Peeta was just regaining his breath when Thresh came charging at him with a sword in hand._

_Only one of two things could happen; one of which included his death, but Peeta preferred option two.  Jumping to the side, Peeta pulled a hunting knife out of the hulking corpse of Cato and raised it defensively in front of him._

_Thresh pushed forward, and Peeta hopped to the side, sticking out a leg to trip the giant as he thundered by; he fell to the ground.  Standing over the fallen tribute, Peeta had all the power.  Still, he could see Thresh inching for the fallen weapon.  Peeta lurched forward in response and drive the knife into Thresh’s he-_

Peeta’s head shot up.  He sat tangled in the chains of sweat-soaked blankets.  The fabrics stuck to his body with sweat and his hair clung to his forehead.  He heaved as he struggled for air, but it felt as though he could not catch his breath. 

Struggling free of his bed, Peeta freed himself in time to rush into the bathroom and regurgitate the contents of his stomach into the toilet.  He bent his head over the bowl, gasping as the vile stuff left him.  With a struggle, Peeta turned his aching head to see the digital clock; it was 4:13 A.M.

Why now!  He mentally groaned as panic ripped through him.  He fell to his side and a refreshing chill ran up his body as the cool tiles touched his scalding body.  Why did the panic seem to set in now?  He had just gotten in with the Careers, and he needed to stay calm for them to keep him around. 

He refused to look at the time again.  What felt like an eternity passed as he sobbed on the bathroom floor.  Every possible scenario ran through his head.  Death by ax, by sword, by spear, by knife, by trident.  Hell, he even ran through the idea of Clove tearing out his throat with her teeth like that victor Enobaria did a few years ago.  Finally, he ran out of tears.

When his breathing calmed, he pushed himself up.  His shaky arms shifted weight onto his shaky legs.  7:32 A.M.  Three and a half hours.  Peeta felt his skin protest as he pulled it from the floor, the sweaty adhesive attempting to force it to remain.  He stepped into the shower’s cool water and allowed it to relax his burning skin.  Only after a sharp knock from Effie did Peeta deign to leave the tiled walls of the shower.

After looking in the mirror, Peeta let out a breath.  At least he didn’t look like he had had a breakdown.  He was a little shaky, and his eyes were open too wide, but he otherwise looked fine.  With that in mind, Peeta left his bathroom and finished preparing for the day.

As Peeta sat down, Haymitch looked at him crossly… as though he knew about Peeta’s little episode.  Katniss, however, was oblivious as she asked about training.

“I already told you,” his gaze didn’t leave Peeta.  “Stick to survival skills and worry about weapons during your private sessions.”

Katniss shrugged and shot Peeta a dirty look.  “Well, I thought since Peeta isn’t doing that then maybe I should check.”

“If he doesn’t want to follow the plan.”  His eyes flashed.  “That’s on him.”  Peeta tore his gaze away and stared at his food.

He desperately tried to shove that dream into the drawer, but it wouldn’t close.  The images just kept flooding his brain and making him shudder.

“Just remember,” Haymitch enunciated.  “These plans are your means to survive.  Worry about the rest at night.”

Peeta doesn’t know how, but the words get to him and the drawer slams shut.  His friends, worries, and everything else tightly locked away.  He can’t help the sigh of relief as the images in his head stop harassing him.  His voice held firm.  “I know my plan.  Trust me, I can stick to it.”

Slowly, Haymitch nodded.  “Good.”  He took a bite of his waffles and, mouth full said: “Then get training.”

Acknowledging the command, Peeta rose from his seat and left the room, Katniss quick to follow.  The two stood, waiting by the elevator when Peeta said “Thank you for your concern.  I know I’m not following Haymitch’s plan, but I do know what I’m doing.”

Katniss balked.  “I’m not concerned for you!”

Peeta shook his head.  He couldn’t fault Katniss for keeping her distance, he did the same, but she could at least do a better job of it.  Still, it was nice of her to care at all.

Training was like the day before except there were no preliminary announcements.  Peeta took a survey of the other tributes and moved to the Gauntlet.  It was one of the mandatory training exercises that he needed to complete so he figured that now was as good a time as any.

Standing on line in front of him was Glimmer from 1.  The girl smiled slyly as he joined her and scanned the room.  “It’s nice to have some variety, don’t you think?”

Peeta shrugged.  Aloof, he reminded himself.  Aloof and deadly.  “I guess.”  He noticed her glance at him out of the corner of his eye.  “Just means the arena’s gonna be more difficult than usual.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun?”

He shot her a withering glare.  “I came here to win,” he deadpanned.  “Anything that makes that more difficult than it has to be is just a nuisance.”

There.  Both deadly and aloof.  From her marginally surprised expression, he suspected he pulled it off.

Glimmer was called to complete the Gauntlet, and conversation stopped.

No matter how worried he was, Peeta had to admit that she was talented.  The girl jumped lithely from platform to platform as though playing hopscotch.  The swinging clubs did nothing to her as she danced around them.  He grew rigid as he realized what he would need to do.

Once his name was called, Peeta stepped up to the first platform.  With a nod, everything swung into motion.  He staggered as his own platform began rising and falling, but his eyes were on the next one. 

Lunging onto a moving platform was both painful and terrifying when his back knee hit the target poorly and began throbbing.  He froze and took a deep breath.  Then he burst forward.  He landed more steadily on the next target.  And the next.  And the next.  It wasn’t until halfway through that things went wrong.

He had just landed on the seventh platform when one of the swinging clubs rammed him off the side.  Gasping desperately, Peeta gripped onto the edge by his fingertips and clawed his way back up.  A moment passed as he heaved. 

Peeta was careful to avoid the clubs now as he maneuvered and hopped from level to level.  His speed, relatively strong in the first half, dipped dramatically, but he paid it no mind.  Frankly, he was simply glad to finish.

Glimmer stood at the exit of the Gauntlet area with a bottle of water held out for him.  With a grateful nod, he took it from her and downed it.  The cool liquid filtered down his throat gloriously and he released a euphoric sigh as he finished.  Calmer now, he wiped the cooling sweat from his brow and looked at her.

“Thanks.”

She nodded, lips pursed.  “What can I say,” her voice was purposefully flat.  “We couldn’t expect District Twelve to properly prepare for the Games.”

“We really do have some trouble with that,” he nodded solemnly.  “Maybe it has something to do with the weather.  Dark and dreary just isn’t good for training.”

“Maybe.”  He could see the corner of her mouth twitch.  Victory.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Lorna was free at the sword-fighting station.  “Well, I’ll see you at lunch.”  With a half-hearted wave, he departed.

Training with Lorna wasn’t all that different from the day before.  As with the day before, she was faster but he stronger.  She had the advantage of experience, but he was sure that she wasn’t putting in nearly as much effort as she could.  Today was more about technique—honing his—than it was about sparring.  All things considered, he felt pretty comfortable as he walked over to the wrestling station.

Cato and Algae were already there, but he simply joined them as the instructor prattled on about different holds.  This was one area which he was sure he would excel.

True to form, the Capitol attendant he was paired with didn’t last a full minute before being taken down.  Round two ended much the same way.  And round three.

A quick glance showed Algae eying him appreciatively.  She wore a playful smile as she looked him over.  Someone liked what they saw.  He shot her a playful wink before turning to the two attendants that he was set to spar at once.

Wrestling against two opponents simultaneously was something Peeta was unfamiliar with.  Whenever he seemed to pin one, the other would materialize and pull him off.  He could see Cato’s smirk growing as he struggled.  His teeth ground together.

Attendant #1 was pinned under him as #2 hurried at him from behind.  Tensely, #1 was pushing against him as he shifted his weight, Peeta kicked a leg out into the attendant’s stomach and brought him gasping to the floor.  Now unhindered, he pressed a defeat on the first and easily moved onto the second.

Cato and Algae were looking him over coolly as he stalked over to them.  “Not bad,” chirped Algae.  Cato said nothing as he stalked forward himself.

Smirking, Peeta corrected, “Pretty good.”

The girl from District Four rolled his eyes.  “Not bad.”  Her lips were quirked as she rolled her finger through her dark hair.  “It’s good to see that we were right about you.”

“And we haven’t even entered the arena yet.”  Cato was looking at him; his face was a blank mask.  Eying the man, Peeta asked, “Wrestling is something I’m good at.  Hand-to-hand combat’s another.”

He noticed a furious glare flicker across Cato’s face as he walked past them toward the combat station.  With a quick glance back, he saw Algae smirking openly at him.  Cato, for his part, was clenching his fists.  He looked desperately ready to hit something.

Fighting wasn’t the same as wrestling.  Wrestling was something he knew well: he had won the last wrestling competition at school.  However, it wasn’t a sport to beat people up in.  It involved forcing people to the ground, sure, and it could result in sore or injured muscles.  However, there was no punching or kicking.

Still, the two were related.  It wasn’t difficult for Peeta to square off against the instructors, and start hitting and punching.  Granted, he was merely throwing his weight around rather than using the sophisticated techniques that he had seen the Careers use, but that meant little.  He had the strength to throw his weight around and managed to land the instructor flat on his back.

“Not much of a technique,” noted Cato with a scoff, arms crossed over his chest.  For the first time, he seemed amused by Peeta’s presence.  Huh.  Seeing someone less skillful than him amused him.

“I’ll admit to that,” he said.  “Still, if you’re strong enough, there isn’t really much of a difference.”

That wasn’t true.  Peeta knew it, and Cato knew it.  Still, it made the boy from 2 glare at him.  Mission accomplished. 

Suddenly, Cato stalked up to him and got in his face.  “Listen Twelve,” sneered.  “I don’t care what the others say, I’m gonna kill you in the bloodbath.  No.  I’ll put on a show.  Maybe hack you to pieces.”

Peeta gulped but stared directly back.  “First you’ll have to beat me,” he said.  Then, he stepped back and nodded to the other Careers over at the sword-fighting station.  “Then you’ll have to fight them.  You think they’ll work with you if you go all alpha male at them and kill anyone you don’t like in the alliance?  See, I think— if you kill me right off the bat— they’ll take you down.  They won’t want to work with someone who’s that unpredictable.  And for such petty reasons.”

“Who the hell are you calling petty?” Cato growled.

Undeterred, Peeta shrugged.  “I have a better stylist.  I made an impression.  You have no other reasons.  Ergo, petty.”

“Maybe they will all try to kill me,” spat Cato, “I’ll just kill them first.  None of them can beat me.”

“Confident aren’t you,” he noted, walking over to the rest station for a drink of water.  No other tributes were there to hear the two boys fighting.  “And maybe you’re right.  You probably could take most of them.”

Then, he got close to Cato, right into his personal space.  “But can you take all of them?  Five highly trained killers who could all put up a fight.  And let’s not even account for the damage I would do before you killed me.  No, you’re not stupid, Cato.  You don’t want to risk it.”

Peeta stalked off when the Career didn’t reply.  As he did, it occurred to him that antagonizing the most skilled tribute in the Games— and he wasn’t blind to Cato’s skill— might not have been the best idea.  Still, he got the feeling the confrontation was necessary.  Cato wasn’t taking his involvement with the Careers seriously.  He wasn’t viewing Peeta as an ally.

Antagonizing the guy no doubt shot him to the top of Cato’s kill list, but it would also keep the Career in line.  Peeta was right: he couldn’t defeat all the Careers at once.  Better to tether his safety to that threat rather than let Cato think killing him is an option.

Marvel and Clove were both at the ropes course, awaiting their turn on the required station.  Sighing, Peeta joins them on the line.  Already, he can tell that he won’t be successful at this one.  It’s all about gymnastics and flexibility.  Those aren’t his skills.

“You excited, Twelve?” asked Marvel, a playful smirk consuming his face.  “I know we are.  Glimmer was telling me last night how excited she was to see you try this course.  Want to know if you’re nice and limber.”  He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Fighting a blush, Peeta shrugged.  “I mean, do I look flexible?  I prefer imposing.”

“Pretty boy was how I’d have described you,” chuckled Clove, looking him over like a predator.  Smiling, she said, “You’re just the next Finnick Odair, aren’t you?  Hoping that pretty face’ll get you to the end.”

Narrowing his eyes, Peeta said “I’m pretty sure his trident got him to the end,” said Peeta before shrugging.  “But hey, looks can’t hurt in the arena, right.”  Smiling widely, he said, “Yours won’t.”

Rather than get embarrassed, Clove’s smirk widened.  She nodded slightly.  “It looks like I’m up, but, we’ll talk later.”

With that, the girl stalked over to the start of the course and started expertly climbing up.  She weaved and arced herself up the rope until she reached the top before slithering across like a snake, bendy and lithe.

“Damn,” whistled Marvel when Clove made a particularly impressive bend.  “Can you just imagine her in bed?”

Chuckling, Peeta said, “She could eat us both alive.” 

Marvel’s smile widened.  “Gladly.”

Unlike the previous stations, where Peeta did well, the ropes course was simply impossible.  Getting to the top was a pain as the grips kept moving whenever he tried to reach them, and his foot continually got caught in knots that he hadn’t seen when he started to move.

Still, getting to the top turned out to be the easy part.  From there he had to move through a maze of ropes and knots as he tried to maneuver across the ceiling to the other side of the training room.  This was ten times worse than climbing up the rope ladder.  At least then, if he couldn’t reach something, he could rest his foot on the previous rope and try again.

Hanging on the unsteady ropes, if he couldn’t reach something, there was a good chance that he would fall before he reached out to grab something.  In fact, he did fall to the ground.

Luckily, it wasn’t too high, and the ground was padded.  Still, it stung, and his entire body felt sore as he pushed himself up.

Around the room, the Careers were laughing as they looked at him.  Algae, Triton, Marvel, and Glimmer made it seem lighthearted, but Cato and Clove seemed to think his bloody nose was hilarious.

Katniss hurried over to him when he fell, kneeling next to him as he pushed himself to his feet.  She held out a tissue to him so he could staunch the blood flow from his nose.  Accepting it gratefully, he started to clean himself up.

“Thanks,” he tells her.

She pays him no mind as the Careers begin joking around, Cato and Clove mimicking his fall to garner laughs. Glaring at them, she turned to stare intently at him.  “Go to the weight-lifting station and hurl something at them.  As heavy as you can.”

Amused, he said, “I thought you wanted me to keep a low profile.”  His voice was slightly muffled by the tissue by his nose.

Glaring at him, she said, “They think you’re weak.”  He doubted it.  It probably was pretty funny.  “Show them that you’re not an easy kill.”

Peeta could have just said no and gone back to training, but he hadn’t lifted anything yet, and the Careers would be impressed by his weight-lifting ability.  Therefore, with a shrug, he dropped the bloody tissue and walked over to the weight-lifting station.

If he were going to throw something, the medicine balls that were labeled with different weights would be best.  Going along the line, he took two one-hundred-pound ones— no need for everyone to see exactly how much he could lift— and choose a target.

With a grunt, he hurled the first medicine ball, watching it arc through the air before crashing into the spear station, smiling as the spears clattered to the ground.  With another grunt, he sent the second hurling right after it. 

Around the room, people were staring at him.  The Careers all were varying degrees of impressed.  Cato begrudgingly so, Algae ogling.  They weren’t the only ones, though.  On the platforms above the tributes sat the Gamemakers.

Throughout training, the Gamemakers were watching and observing all the tributes.  It wasn’t a close observation, Peeta often noticed them laughing and eating, but there were always there.  Now, they were staring at him with open interest.

Capitalizing on the interest, Peeta made his way over to the wrestling station for a second time that day.  As he did, the three opponents he faced before moved into position and began circling him. 

Ducking under one of their grips, he circled around and threw the first to the ground.  Then, while he was distracted, the other two attempted to knock him down.  Throwing himself backward, he knocked one to the floor before gripping the other’s arm.

Spinning, he threw the third to the ground before turning to face off against the approaching second attendant.  Having been hurled to the ground and defeated earlier in the day, the man glared at him as he advanced.

Peeta gripped the guy’s arms as he advanced and swept his leg out from under him.  It wasn’t really a wrestling move, but then, the Hunger Games wasn’t really a school tournament.  It worked, and the man fell to the ground, Peeta on top of him, when the guy tapped out, Peeta rolled to the side in order to avoid the third attendant running at him,

As the two shoved each other on the ground, moving from top to bottom violently, Peeta pushed the guy off and hurled himself on top of him.  Finally, Peeta hurried over to the winded man and held him down.

The other tributes had begun moving to other stations when Peeta left the wrestling, but the Gamemakers kept their eyes trailed on him.  That was good, he supposed, that they were noticing him.  But it made his decision to do to the edible plants' station— he needed a refresher— to be a bit unimpressive.

Still, he went over the test, managing a nineteen out of twenty on the medium level test.  The expert test, unfortunately, only left him with thirteen out of twenty.

Not completely satisfied, but wanting to cool off after a trying morning, Peeta grabbed a water bottle and walked to the camouflage station.  Smirking, Peeta looked at the trainer and said,

“How does this work?”

The trainer, a short, balding man with a name tag saying Rowle, said, “I select an environment.”  He motioned to a computer in front of him.  “And the room will be fitted with that environment.  You then will take what is available and try to fit in.”

Nodding, Peeta said, “Thanks.  Let’s begin.”

Rowle began typing away.  Then, the wall sealed in front of the camouflage station and he could hear whirring noises.  Then, the wall pulled back to reveal a forest scene.

“What you want to do is find means of concealing yourself.  Use plants, dirt, mud.  Whatever you need to keep yourself hidden, use it.”

Peeta shrugged off his shirt and entered the forest scene and began picking at plants and digging his hands into the mud, at was arduous work, and it took the better part of forty minutes, but finally, he finished and turned to look at Rowle.

“How’d I do?”

Rowle stared at him, eyes wide.  “I watched you work and I can’t even see you.  How did you…”

“I decorated the cakes back at the bakery,” he said bashfully, exiting his hiding spot with a smile.  He walked over to the showering station to remove the grime he had used, thankful he had taken off his shirt first.  His pants, dirty from kneeling on the ground, weren’t nearly as grimy as his upper body.

“Those must have been some cakes,” noted Rowle as Peeta disappeared to be washed.  Lunch had been called moments ago, so he needed to be fast if he wanted to sit with the Careers.  Better to seal the alliance now that he has everyone’s attention.  It wouldn’t do for them to get to talking without him there to keep them on his side.

As he finished, he hurried out of the shower area and thanked Rowle.  Tributes were still lingering by the door as he entered the cafeteria, but the Careers had already moved the tables to sit together.  Plates were laid out at the table, so he wouldn’t need to wait in line as he hurried over to them.

“There’s our seventh member,” called Marvel, motioning for Peeta to sit between him and Algae.  “Gotta say,” he began, “I wasn’t too impressed with your rope course scores.  But that show with the weights was really something.”

Peeta shook his head.  “I wouldn’t call that something,” he said, taking a bite of some meat on the table.  “I’d call it settling for a lower weight.”

“No need to showboat, Peeta,” teased Glimmer, running her hand along his arm from her seat across from him.  “We all saw that those were hundred-pound weights.  That’s more than respectable.”

“Exactly,” he said with a bright smile, saying nothing more as he took a bite out of his bread.  Around him, the Careers looked speculatively at him.

“What about you, Cato?” he asked finally.  “What did you think of the display?”

The older blond glared at him before shrugging.  “Not bad.”  Triton rolled his eyes at the guy.

“Pretty good,” he corrected.

So they enjoyed the show, he said, looking around at them.  Good.  After lunch, he would work with spears and knives before the end of the day.

Knives he wasn’t particularly worried about.  They were close combat weapons, and having physical strength made them more effective.  He was sure they would work well enough in the arena for him.

This proved to be true as he squared off against a trainer in the knife fighting station and won.  Though it wasn’t really down to his skills with the blade.  Really, it was because he could push the woman to the ground and hit her with the blade before she could get back up.

Still, it looked impressive, and he was satisfied when he moved to the spear station.

Unlike the previous stations, Peeta found he was terrible with spears.  Only the point was a useful weapon, and it was too long for him to properly handle.  He could barely move it to the side without tripping over his legs.

Making matters worse was Marvel standing at the station laughing at him.  Unlike other stations, there was no way to brush this off as anything other than Peeta just not knowing what he’s doing.

Blushing, Peeta left the station, the laughter, and made his way to the fire-starting station.  This was something he had been doing for years.

Every morning, he would get up and start the fires to begin baking.  Whenever possible, of course, he would use coal to keep the fire going.  Of course, that implied that the bakery had coal to use.  More often than not, though, he was forced to build fires out of tree branches.  He knew which wood would make the best kindling, and he knew how to get a fire started quickly and with the least amount of smoke.  After all, too much smoke would impede business.

As the day drew to an end and Atala announced that it was time for them to head up to their floors.  They would meet again tomorrow for their private sessions with the Gamemakers and then have their training scores revealed at night.

The dismissed tributes formed lines by the elevators, waiting as three to four tributes boarded each elevator and ascended.  The Careers were the first in the elevators, and he saw them discussing something.  Marvel and Cato were talking to the others the most.  However, before Peeta could head over to them, the elevator closed and shot up before Peeta could even speak to them.

Sweat broke out on his brow as he realized that they hadn’t spoken to him.  Perhaps they were reconsidering an alliance with him.  He could have been overthinking it, but he had screwed up two different stations while several people were watching.  That could easily work against him.

His ride up in the elevator was marred by these thoughts.  He and Katniss were mostly silent as they rose up.  He would talk to Haymitch about it, he decided.  Hopefully, his mentor would have something for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to show why the Careers were interested in Peeta, and that meant making him a bit more aloof than he usually is in the series. He's What's more, I wanted to show Katniss' conflicted feelings about Peeta from the perspective of someone who is not in love with her and actively needing her to die. Even as they prepare for the Hunger Games, she's trying to repay the debt she owes him for the bread, but she's also trying to stay alive herself. So, there's this weird flip-flopping she does where one minute she's glaring at him and the next she's trying to help. She's not really aware of what she's doing, so it comes off as sudden when she suddenly shifts from one emotion to another. I can't explain that in the story because we're never going to be hearing Katniss' viewpoint, so I wanted to make it clear that her erratic actions are intentional. As confusing as it is, there is a reason.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter. I want to apologize for how late it's been. Rest assured, the story is written. It's just taking time to edit every chapter. It will be done, though.

The elevator doors hadn’t finished opening before Peeta was stalking into the living room.  Haymitch, surprisingly without a drink in his hand, was sitting on the sofa.  He was lounging back, looking miserable, but he was sober.

“I need to talk to you,” said Peeta, Haymitch’s head jerking sharply as he spoke.

Warily, the victor said, “What’s wrong?”

Peeta glanced at Katniss, who had just entered the room.  “I have some questions about my strategy that I’m not sure about.”  He spoke carefully, noting Katniss leaning forward to listen.

Haymitch noticed it too.  “Fine, Kid, We’ll talk in the dining room.  Sweetheart,” he turned to Katniss.  “Stay here for a minute.  Or change into something not covered in sweat, I don’t care.  Actually, I do.  Change.”

Katniss huffed, glaring at him.  “Fine,” she said, “But you and I should talk about the arena later.”

Haymitch nodded.  “Of course sweetheart,” he drawled.  “Now run along.  We’ll talk when I’m done with the boy.”

Once she left, Haymitch pushed himself to his feet with a huff and stalked to the doorway.  “She can probably still hear us so be careful.  Wait until the door closes before speaking.”

Inside the dining room, Haymitch sealed the door and turned to Peeta.  “What happened?”

“So,” he began, “I did what we planned and started hanging out with the Careers.  Everything was going well, and I was making a splash, just like you said.  Then, I had to do the rope course.”

“Not a big deal,” said Haymitch, waving a hand.  “That course is a bitch for everyone.  Even Careers have problems with it.  Failing it won’t screw you up.”

“I thought the same,” he said.  “But Katniss said—”

“Why the hell are you listening to Katniss?”

Peeta rolled his eyes.  “She said that everyone was laughing, and I should remind them that I’m a competitor.  Since I’m trying to look like a Career, I did what she said and threw the two of the heaviest medicine balls.”

Haymitch nodded slowly, lowering himself into a chair.  “Alright,” he said.  “How’d that go?”

“Everyone was watching,” he replied.  “The Careers, the Gamemakers, the other tributes.  They were all looking at me.”

“I’m not seeing the problem here, kid.”

“I’m getting to it.”  He began pacing the room.  “With everyone watching, I went to the wrestling station—”

“A good strategy for a wrestler,” drawled Haymitch, staring longingly at an empty glass.  Peeta rolled his eyes but was glad there was no alcohol in the room.

“Wrestling was good, and then we went to lunch, and I sat with them.  The problem started after lunch when I was at spear throwing with the boy from One.  It was a mess.  I was tripping over myself, falling on the ground, nearly stabbed myself.  Throughout it all, Marvel just laughed at me.”

Haymitch looked at him, somewhat somberly.  “That may be a problem,” he conceded.  “You don’t want to look too weak.  But everything else was fine, right?”

“Up until we were leaving, yeah.  I finished the day at Fire making and we were dismissed.  But, when we were leaving, the Careers all went up in an elevator together, and I wasn’t on it.  They were talking, Marvel and Cato mostly, and I saw them point at me.”

A moment passed in silence as Haymitch rubbed his eyes.  “Alright,” he said, staring at Peeta.  “Is there anything else I need to know?”

Peeta was about to respond but hesitated.  He remembered that morning, and the altercation with… “Cato,” he said finally.  “He and I were arguing this morning.  He said he wanted to kill me.  I told him that the others liked me, and they’d probably turn on him if he took me out without their say-so.”

Haymitch smacked the table.  “Are you nuts,” he snapped.  “You antagonized one of the toughest tributes, why?”

“From the way he was talking, I figured he would kill me anyway,” Peeta tried to explain.  “I thought that if I called him out on it, then I might have some security.  You know, if he thinks the others would kill him, he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“You’re right, but why would they defend you?”

“Didn’t say they would,” he retorted.  “I said that if he killed me in the bloodbath, then the others wouldn’t want to work with someone unpredictable.”

Rubbing his eyes, Haymitch said “That’s true, but he’s probably not thinking of that.  He’ll want to kill you anyway.  Now, he’ll just get their blessings first.”

“So it’s over,” he said bleakly, falling into a chair.  “They’re gonna kill me.”

“Not necessarily.”  Haymitch stood up and stalked over to the hutch, which held several colorful drinks.  Pouring himself a generous glass, he meandered back over to the table.  “You screwed up with Cato, but the debacle with the spear could help you.”

“I screwed up.  How could that help?”  Already on a single glass, and Peeta couldn’t help thinking Haymitch just got drunk.

The man caught him glaring at the drink and smirked.  “Non-alcoholic,” he said.  “And it’ll help because it makes you seem weaker.  Before, they may have killed you early on just to avoid the trouble at the end.  Now, they may keep you around for the extra support with the assumption that you’ll be an easy kill later.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Kid,” he said, “if they don’t, you’re a dead man.  But we always knew that.  You’ve just gotta keep your eyes open and read the field.  If it seems like they’re turning on you, get the hell out.  If not, keep the alliance going.”

Considering the drink was non-alcoholic, Peeta poured himself some.  It was bubbly and tasted like cherries as it slid down his throat.  “Be honest, Haymitch,” he said, “What are my chances?”

To his credit, the man doesn’t say he’ll win for sure.  “Better than I would have expected,” he said.  “But you’re still a longshot.”

Of course, he was.  “Any other advice for me?”

“Get a good night’s sleep,” he said immediately.  “Tomorrow, you’ll have your private session with the Gamemakers.  That means fifteen of you trying to impress them.  Now, you’ve got their attention; that’s good.  Make yourself memorable.”

Nodding, he said, “Got it.”

Haymitch gets up, talking his glass with him, and walks to the door.  “Time to go help out Sweetheart.”

Nodding, Peeta said “Good luck.”

Sitting in silence did nothing for Peeta’s worries.  He had watched the Games every year and knew that the Careers were a formidable threat.  Moreover, he knew that hardly anyone had won the Games from outlying districts. 

It stood to reason that working with the Careers would be the best shot he had at winning the Games.  After all, they are always the favorites.  If he could work with them for a while, maybe he can outlast them.

But, there was that little voice in his head, other people had tried that strategy.  Two years ago, the boy from 7 had tried working with the Careers.  Oak Morrow.  He had gotten pretty far, too.  Final nine.  Until the Careers killed him.  It had been bloody and horrible.  Haymitch was right: The Careers could easily turn on him.  In fact, they certainly would.

Back in District 12, he, Delly and Garnet had talked about how they would each win the Games.  Delly had said she would hide out until everyone killed each other, but she didn’t think she could win it all.  Garnet had said he would kill the Careers in their sleep.  Quick and efficient. 

At the time, Peeta said he wouldn’t survive the arena.  He didn’t want to kill anyone, and he wouldn’t be any good at it if he tried.  He chuckled to himself.  Oh, how the times have changed.

He wouldn’t be able to fight the Careers.  Of that, he was certain.  He could put on an impressive show during training, throwing his weight around, but they were all more experienced than he was.  Maybe he could fight one or two, but that wasn’t how they operated.  They were a pack for a reason.  Every kill was a group effort, and he couldn’t take them six on one.

“Peeta,” said a voice, jarring him from his thought.  Turning, he smiled at Effie as she walked into the room.  “You really should go get changed and ready for dinner.  It would be rude to sit for a meal while smelling.”

He smiled.  “You’re absolutely right, Effie,” he said.  “I should go get ready.  And a shower would be good.  When is dinner?”

“Forty-five minutes,” she answered.  “Off you go.”

A shower was a good idea, and Peeta smiled as he felt the water wash over his body.  His muscles, which he hadn’t even realized were burning, relaxed under the stream.  He stayed, cleaning himself, for as long as possible before dressing for dinner.

He was the last to arrive for dinner, and he took his seat next to Katniss.  No one was talking about the Games, though Katniss wasn’t talking at all.

“I really do think you would look lovely as a blonde, Katniss,” said Effie.  “It would look splendid with your complexion.”

Katniss would never go for it, he knew.  Blonde hair belonged to the merchants like Peeta.  Sure, he mother and sister both had blonde hair, but Peeta got the impression she looked down on the merchants.  Thought less of them.  Even Madge, who Katniss sat with regularly during classes, admitted that Katniss always got cool when Madge mentioned her family.

The divide between the Seam and the town was huge, and Peeta was well aware of it.  Most of the people he knew, his parents for sure, would stop talking to him if he reached eighteen and was forced to work in the mines.  Even Katniss’ mother, who wasn’t a miner but married one, was shunned. 

Peeta didn’t understand the difference between the two, to be honest.   Neither group had anything in the way of comfortable living.  They all no doubt worried about the Hunger Games.  Yet, still, the divide persisted.

“Dark hair makes her look a bit more mysterious,” he commented, smiling at the escort.  Katniss looked mutinously offended at the woman’s remark.  “We wouldn’t want anyone expecting a bubbly girl from District One when she walks into a room would we?”

Effie chirped.  “Of course not,” she giggled, waving a lavender handkerchief around.  “No, Peeta, you’re right.  Blonde hair would look lovely on Katniss, but her entire appearance would be disrupted by her expression.  I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

“Funny,” commented Haymitch.  “I didn’t think you could think at all.”

The escort glared at him before huffed.  “Nor did I believe that you could remain sober through a meal, never mind a day.  I suppose we’ve both learned something today.”

Peeta smiled at the banter.  They were an old married couple.  The impression was made more poignant given that he knew they could have civilized conversations.  However, amusing as it was, there were more pressing concerns.  “I know that we have our private training sessions tomorrow, but is there anything else we need to do?”

“Each of you will have fifteen minutes to impress the Gamemakers,” gushed Effie, a brilliant smile on her face.  “Keep calm, make an impression, and they’ll love you.  Luckily, since you’re District Twelve, you get to go last.  You’ll be the last ones they see!”

“Also,” cut in Haymitch, “you’ll be the ones they’re not paying attention too.  By the time you get to them, they’ll have been in there for five hours.  Make sure you announce yourselves when you get in and start off strong.  It’s all about capturing their attention.”

“Hopefully it won’t be quite as bad as in previous years,” commented Effie, grimacing.  “Thanks to your entrance in the Opening Ceremonies, they are already interested.  Still, Haymitch is right: start strong.”

“How do they measure the skills?” asked Katniss, looking up from her meal.  “Is it just what’s memorable, or is there a scale we should know about?”

For a moment, Haymitch seemed to think it over.  “It depends,” he said, “but usually, talent with a weapon— like you with a bow, can get you somewhere in the eight to ten range.  Survival skills and less skilled weapons’ use can usually get up to a six or seven.”

“So eleven and twelve are—”

“Those are for people who go above and beyond, Sweetheart,” said Haymitch.  “There’s no formula for getting those scores.”

“You said the Gamemakers are probably gonna be bored by the time we get to them,” said Peeta, picking up the conversation as Katniss turned back to her food.  “How should we act to get their attention?  Do we only announce ourselves?”

“Good question, kid, and it’s something both of you need to hear.  Listen up, Sweetheart,” he snapped at Katniss.  Glaring, she put down her fork and stared at him.  “They are, probably, not going to be paying too much attention to you.  That’s a problem.  Do your best and show them your skills.  There are cameras in there, so they can watch recordings of your session if they really can’t remember what you did.”

“If they’re gonna watch recordings, what does it matter?” asked Katniss.

Haymitch glared at her.  “What do you think will get you a higher score?” he asked.  “A tribute that was so good that they remember her at the end of the day.  Or a tribute who was pretty good, but they needed a recording to remind themselves of what she did.  If they don’t need a recording, that means you made yourselves memorable.  This is a tv show, Sweetheart.  They want it to be good.”

“But they still won’t be paying attention to us,” she insisted with a glare.  Peeta agreed with her.  They needed to make an impression, but they wouldn’t be having eyes on them.

Haymitch threw his fork onto the table with a clatter.  “There are forty-one Gamemakers,” he said, “someone will be watching you.  Plus, these people are experts at multitasking.  They can fawn over a meal and over tributes.  Do something good so you don’t lose the initial support.”

“Also,” Effie said, patting Haymitch’s arm with a series of short taps, seemingly calming him down.  “They’re interested in the two of you.  They think you might be contenders.  Celeste was telling me how much she loved your costumes in the Opening Ceremonies.  Even if they’re tired, they’ll want to see you both.”

“Now get to bed,” ordered Haymitch.  “Both of you.  We can’t afford for you two to be exhausted tomorrow.”

Peeta sighed and told them goodnight.  As he walked out of the room, he turned to Katniss and said.  “You’ll be fine.”  She stopped with a start and turned to him.  He smiled.  “My dad buys your squirrels.  He always comments on how you hit them right in the eye every time.  Just take your time and you’ll be alright.”

Katniss looked at him narrowly before nodding.  “Thanks.”

“Sweetheart,” said Haymitch, standing in the doorway.  “I need to talk to you about tomorrow.  Something just occurred to me.  Kid, you get to bed.”

Peeta nodded and walked off.  It was time to get some sleep and hope that tomorrow wouldn’t be a disaster.  No one from District 12 ever got good training scores, but he would need too.  His entire plan revolved around it.

As he prepared for bed, he thought over his confrontation with Cato.  The boy hated him, that was for sure.  But, despite that, Peeta got the feeling that Cato would back down in the arena.  Once the blood started flowing, Cato would want to kill him, but he would keep him around until he could start killing off the entire alliance. 

Clove was another matter entirely.  He had seen her during training, and her intensity freaked him out.  Despite their joking by the ropes course, he got the impression she had already decided how many tributes needed to die before she would kill him.  There was this sort of buzz just underneath the surface when he watched her at the knife-throwing station.  It was chaotic and bloodthirsty.

He wasn’t too worried about Triton.  The guy would drop him with the rest of the alliance, but he got the impression that Triton wasn’t as ruthless as some of the others.  He would kill in the arena, but it wouldn’t be cruel or drawn out. 

The same could be said for Algae.  She was a flirt, but he got the feeling that she really wanted him in the alliance.  She was particularly keen on that after seeing him train.  If he didn’t get a good score, the Careers might drop him.  However, he was confident he could weasel that information out of her during the interviews if he needed too. 

Glimmer and Marvel were another matter entirely.  Both were flirts, he knew, but it was different from Algae.  Where Algae seemed to flirt for the sake of flirting, Glimmer seemed the type to draw someone in with her looks before killing them.  If he didn’t get a good score, she would want to calm him down before stabbing him in the back.

Marvel seemed impatient.  If he got enough distractions, he probably wouldn’t think about killing members of the alliance.  Peeta didn’t think he would be much of a threat compared to the others.  He was cocky enough to get distracted.

The Careers were what he thought about as he tossed and turned in bed.  After all, they were the ones who would decide if his training score was worth an alliance…

* * *

 

All the tributes sat in silence the next day as one by one, they were called in for their private sessions.  The Gamemakers had announced that they weren’t to talk to one another, and they were to remain in line. 

One by one the tributes enter their sessions.  None of them come back afterward.  For Peeta, this was particularly grueling as he had to think about everything Haymitch said.  The Gamemakers would be bored when he showed up.  They wouldn’t want to pay attention to him.

He thought about what he would do.  Wrestling would be obvious, but they had already seen the extent of his skills.  Plus, that would take up more time than he would care to admit.  He wasn’t confident enough with axes.

Haymitch had said play to his strengths.  Weight-lifting and hand-to-hand combat would be the best for that, he supposed.  But, he wanted a weapon as well.  Something to show that he was a serious competitor.

Make an impression, he thought to himself.  How does he make an impression?

Suddenly, as District 10’s girl heads in for her private session, it occurred to him.  He spent the next hour going over exactly how the plan would need to work.  It would depend on the Gamemakers and whether they would allow him to spar with the instructors, but if he can, then his plan could work.

As he finishes the logistics of his plan, the announcer calls “Peeta Mellark.  District Twelve.”

Peeta rose to his feet and walked into the room.  Behind him, the doors shut with an echoing BUM!  It was clear that Haymitch was right.  The Gamemakers were all tired, many of them talking to one another rather than looking at him.

“Peeta Mellark.  District Twelve,” he announced, drawing attention from them.  He was pleased to note that they were actually looking at him.  It seemed Effie was right: they were interested in him.

With that in mind, Peeta walked over to the weightlifting station and picked up the two heaviest medicine balls.  Two hundred pounds each.  Twice as heavy as the ones he had thrown before.

There was a course to throw them on, with markers indicating how far they went.  Taking the first one, Peeta took a deep breath and hurled it as far as he could.  With a thump, it landed on the edge of the course.  Another deep breath and the second one sailed after it. 

He smiled as he looked at them, a satisfying distance away.  Then, he turned back to the Gamemakers.

Most were still watching him, albeit with marginally less interest.  Those who were still looking were nodding at him appreciatively.  Good.

Next, Peeta moved over to the ax-wielding station and picked up one of them.  Gripping it the way Terminus had instructed, he turned to the dummies.  With a grunt, he swung it at one.  He felt the impact tremor up his arm as the dummy lost one of its own, the ax buried deep in the side.  The dummy’s eyes glowed red.

Yanking out the ax, he turned to the next dummy and swung, going straight through the shoulder.  Dead.

Finally, he activated the automatic movement function of the station, causing the remaining dummies to start circling him.  It was slow work to watch the dummies move, but he kept his gaze trained on them.

Eying one, he took a step forward and swung.  The head lobbed clean off, and the dummy died.

With another hard swing of the ax, he stuck it straight into the chest of another moving dummy.  Satisfied, he placed the ax down and walked back to the Gamemakers.

“Am I able to have sparring partners?” he asked

One Gamemaker, wearing a suit and with a weird, curling beard nodded.  “Which sparring partners would you like?”

“Three knife combat instructors.”

Nodding, the Gamemaker pressed a few buttons on his console and a door at the edge of the room opened.  Out walked three of the trainers he had seen at the knife station over the past two days.

This would be the riskiest option he could take.  As it stood, Peeta felt certain that he had gotten a reasonable score.  Maybe not a ten, but a seven or so.  If he screwed this up, though, he would be lucky to get a five.

During training, he had taken on three opponents at the wrestling station.  It had been tricky, but he had done it.  At the knife station, he had noticed that knife combat was often about brute force and pushing people onto his weapon.

Only, and this was his greatest worry, he had had difficulty with three wrestling opponents.  Not too much, but some.  If they were wielding knives, he might lose.  Still, those were the odds he would be facing in the arena.  Better to get a good understanding of his chances now rather than later.

He quickly pulled on a training jacket.  During training, the instructor said that it would measure the hits he took to discern any “injuries” he had sustained.  Each of the instructors was wearing full body suits, too.

Taking the training knife, he squared off against the three.  All three were older than him, and the one woman smaller.  No doubt she would be faster, too.  A timer clocked down to zero and they began to brawl.

The man to the right ran forward immediately, trying to catch him off guard, but Peeta gripped the hand he held the knife in, shoving his own into the suit.  It wouldn’t hurt him, but it marked the blow.  Then, when the man was distracted by the jab, he used the man’s arm to fling him at the other two. 

Both managed to jump out of the way, but Peeta used their distraction to run at the other man.  The two grappled for a few minutes; Peeta was stronger but the man more experienced.  When he heard the patter of steps, he released the man and jumped to the side, just barely managing to avoid getting hit by the woman. 

The man wasn’t as lucky and was knocked to the ground.  While he got up, the woman rushed at Peeta while he was on the ground.  Remembering his hand-to-hand combat lessons, he launched his foot out and tripped her, making her crash to the ground.  Quickly, Peeta jumped to his feet and faux-stabbed her, removing her from the fight.

Now the man was back and the two circled each other.  Both were jumpy, but Peeta glared at him and waited.  Finally, the man ran forward.

It was a “fatal” mistake.  Peeta was stronger, and he managed to grab and twist the man’s arm, making him drop the knife.  Finally, Peeta stabbed forward with his own knife and ended the brawl.

After her removed his training jacket, Peeta returned to the center of the room.  All the Gamemakers were staring at him now.  Several were looking at him approvingly, and the others were nodding. 

The one with the beard nodded.  “You may go,” he said.

Peeta smiled.  “Thank you for your time.”

With that, he walked out of an open door to the side and into an elevator.  His body was thrumming as he ascended, a smile on his face.  It worked.  He had made the impression that Haymitch was so worried about. 

Neither Haymitch nor Effie were on the Twelfth floor when he arrived.  He had checked every room before shrugging.  Might as well take a shower and get ready for dinner.

In the shower, he thought about home.  He would be working in the kitchen with his father, and both his brothers would be out.  Barley would be with Nettle, his fiancé.  Rye, on the other hand, would be over at the butcher’s; talking with his friend Gareth.  Instead, he was showing off his fighting skills in the Capitol.

Funnily enough, he was the only one of his brothers who didn’t want to travel.  Whenever a clip of District 4 can on tv, Barley would bemoan never having visited the ocean.  Rye was fascinated by the Capitol.  Both of them would have enjoyed seeing this place.  He was the only one who was satisfied by District 12.  Or rather, he was the only one who didn’t complain about being there.

In his room, he simply laid in bed and thought back on his life in District 12. 

Tonight, everyone in District 12 would be sitting down to watch the airing of the training scores.  What would they think of him?  He was sure he did well.

His family thought he would die in the arena.  None of them were expecting him to come home to them.  Katniss was more likely in their eyes.  Would a good training score change that?  Would it make them hope that they might see him again?  He didn’t know what he would prefer: them believing he would come home or not.  He would hate to get their hopes up only to crush them later.

Delly had been crying during his goodbyes.  She hadn’t said she thought he would die, Delly wouldn’t do that, but she didn’t think he was a killer.  She would be cheering for him, Peeta was sure.  And she would take the first opportunity to believe he had a real chance to get home.  Hell, after the Opening Ceremonies, she might already be convinced.  If she wasn’t, he thought she would be tonight.

Madge was cautiously optimistic—her words—about his chances.  According to her, he was definitely strong enough to survive, but the arena could be unpredictable.  Madge wasn’t the kind of person who made blasé declarations.  She didn’t like definitive claims without support.

Garnet expected him to come home.  Of that Peeta had no doubt.  His friend hadn’t even said goodbye when he came to see Peeta.  He had just smiled at Peeta with the smile.  The one that always made Peeta himself smile…

_“Peeta,” said Garnet as he burst into the room, pulling him into a tight hug.  Peeta clutched his friend as tears streamed down his face._

_“I can’t.” he sobbed, unable to say anything coherent.  “I know, I know you said to be strong, but… hell, my own family doesn’t think I’m coming home!”_

_Garnet pulled back.  “Can’t what?” he asked, indignant.  “Win?  Of course, you can.  I’ll be seeing you in a few weeks.  And fuck your family, Peet.  I’ve told you before, they’re worth less than the coal in the fire.  Don’t listen to them.”_

_“Let’s be real, Gar,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes.  “Even my mother says I’ve got no chance.”_

_“The same woman who thinks it’s alright to hit her son,” snapped Garnet.  “Excuse me if I don’t take her seriously.  But, Peeta.”  Garnet gripped his shoulders and shook him.  “You can do this.  You’re the best wrestler in our year, you can charm the food out of a starving man’s hands, and you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.  You can win.”_

_“You just said it,” he said, “I can’t even fight off my own mother.  How can I kill anyone?”_

_His friend just pulled him to the sofa and sat down next to him, patting his leg.  “You do it by remembering that you’re worth more than anything the Capitol has to offer.  You do it because I can’t sit at home and watch you die.”_

_“I’m sure you’d get over it,” he muttered.  “Everyone else will.”_

_Garnet smacked his arm.  “Snap out of it,” he demanded.  “Peeta, if you die, I will never forgive you!  But more than that, I can’t lose you.  You need to come home because I’m counting on you to come home.  And, since I know you can, come back to me.”_

_Peeta looked at his friend when suddenly, Garnet smiled.  Against his will, Peeta smiled too.  Garnet always made him feel better.  He didn’t know how he would do it, but this was Garnet.  Garnet trusted him to come home._

_“I gotta go,” said Garnet when the Peacekeepers entered the room.  He pressed something cold and metallic into Peeta’s hand.  “Take this for your token.”_

_It was a golden bangle like gilded flames.  Peeta stared at it for a minute disbelievingly.  It must have come from Garnet’s shop, but his family couldn’t know it was here.  This would cost Gar a fortune.  “For luck.”_

_“Gar,” Peeta said.  “I can’t take this.”_

_“Sure you can,” he replied, stepping back as the Peacekeepers grabbed his arm.  “You can pay me back for it when you come home.  Bring the money when we go out for lunch.”  With that, they led him out of the room, and he was gone._

Garnet would be thrilled when Peeta’s score was shown.  He expected him to win, and he would be unsurprised by it entirely.  There was no doubt in Peeta’s mind that Garnet, at least, would be telling everyone who would listen that Peeta was coming home.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Peeta,” said Effie, jarring him from his thoughts.  “Peeta, it’s time for dinner.  And after we’ll be seeing the training scores.  Hurry along.”

He exited the room with a sigh, meandering down the hall to his room.  Haymitch and Effie were back, but so were Cinna and Portia.  Peeta hadn’t seen the stylists in days, but it was nice that they were here.  He sat down and looked at his mentor.

“Where were you?” he asked.  “I got back, and no one was here.”

Haymitch shrugged.  “Effie went to talk to some potential sponsors, and I went to visit Beena.  Figured I should get over there before the Games start and tell her about you.”  He smirked at Peeta.  “She’s been impressed by you.”

“Take that as a compliment, Peeta,” said Effie, smiling as she took a small sip from her glass.  “Beena almost never admits she likes someone.  Why she still hasn’t admitted she likes me.”

“Probably ‘cause she doesn’t,” replied Haymitch mildly, earning a smack from Effie.  “Effie was just telling me about the sponsors she talked too.  How well you did today can make or break your sponsorship deals, but some people like to take some risks.  She got a few to sign on for you.”

“Great,” he said.  “Thanks, Effie.”

The Escort smiled.  “Of course, Peeta, dear.  It was no trouble at all.” 

He looked at Portia and said, “I haven’t seen you since the Opening Ceremony.  What’s been going on.”

Portia smiled at him.  “I’ve been busy preparing your outfit for the interview,” she told him, taking a bit out of the lamb in front of her.

“Still going with the flames?”

She smiled.  “It is your trademark.”

Katniss entered the room, despondently.  She fell into her chair and just started picking away at her food.  Cinna tried to start up a conversation with her, but the girl just seemed a bit out of it.

And that was how dinner went.  They ate their food, most of them chatted, and they didn’t talk about the training sessions. 

Of course, it couldn’t last.  When Haymitch set down his fork, he looked at them.  “Now, how’d training go?”

Peeta smiled.  “Great,” he said, putting down his own utensils.  “Once I told them who I was, they paid attention as I did everything.”

“What did you do?” asked Effie, smiling brightly at him.

He smiled back.  “A little of everything that I had done in training.  They were all watching me by the end of it.  I think it went well.”

“And you, Sweetheart?” asked Haymitch, shooting a pointed look at Katniss.  “How’d it go for you?”

Katniss groaned.  “Awful.”  She took a deep breath and shook her head.  “They weren’t all watching, like with Peeta, but they were paying attention.  But then, I tried to use the bow and I missed.”

“Missed,” asked Haymitch, just staring at her, “How the hell did you miss?”

She just looked at him plainly.  “This bow was different from the one back home.  Sturdier, less give in the material.  I wasn’t used to it, so I missed.  After a few minutes, I got the hang of it and put on a show, but only about half of them were watching.  The others were all loudly talking about what they should order for dinner.”

“Half is still better than none,” commented Cinna, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.  She smiled slightly at him. 

Peeta wanted to comfort her as well, but it seemed out of place.  The Gamemakers had paid attention to him.  Rubbing it in seemed unfair.

Effie glanced at a clock and squeaked.  “Oh! They’re announcing the scores soon.  Let’s get to the living room to watch.”

Peeta sat cozily on the couch as the screen came to life with Caesar Flickerman looking at them.  “Good evening, Panem,” he said brightly, his brilliant smile near blinding on the screen.  “For the last three days, the tributes have been training, and now it’s time to see the fruits of their labor.  Let’s jump right in and hear the scores, shall we?  From District One, Marvel Willington with a score of Eight.”

Spears, Probably, thought Peeta.  They were Marvel’s favorite weapon by far.

“Glimmer Inchtape with a score of Nine.”

He smirked.  No doubt she would be disappointed.  Glimmer always fancied herself to be the toughest tribute.  She had stalked around training as though she owned it and everyone there.

“From District Two, Cato Grayson with a score of Ten.”

Of course, he would get a ten.  Peeta rolled his eyes.  Unfortunately, he had no idea what Cato had shown them.  It could have been anything.

“Clove Marble with a score of Nine.”

Another nine.  Great.  At least in her case, he was sure she had used throwing knives.  They were without a doubt her favorite weapon. 

“From District Three, Chase Allens with a score of Four.  Electra Summers with a score of Four.”

So District Three probably wouldn’t be too dangerous this year.  Some years, Peeta knew, their knowledge of electricity was positively lethal.  Still, they wouldn’t be combat fighters, and that meant that they could be taken out before they could do anything too dangerous.

Peeta stopped.  Now he was thinking like a Career.  Weighing the strengths and weaknesses of people so he could plan to kill them.  Despite himself, he shuddered.

“From District Four, Triton Rayerson with a score of Eight.”

Triton wasn’t going to be easy to beat.  Peeta knew that the guy could masterfully swing an ax, and he was an expert swordsman.  Both skills were far superior to Peeta’s own showing off over training.

“Algae O’Roarke with a score of Eight.”

She was good with a spear.  Not at Marvel’s level, but still good.  Her knife work was alright, too.

“From District Five, Maury Danis with a score of Three.  Finch Preston with a score of Five.”

Maury didn’t seem like much of a threat.  The boy was kind of useless during training.  Finch, though, she could be a problem.  Her score wasn’t that impressive, but there was something about her.  The way she eyed the other tributes made him nervous.  She was smart.

And on it went.  Each district was quick, and the scores were predictably terrible.  No one got above a five until District Eleven when…

“From District Eleven, Thresh Cordon with a score of Nine.  Rue Partree with a score of Seven.”

Peeta’s eyes widened at that.  Thresh wasn’t too surprising.  He was massive and could give any of the Careers a run for their money.  Peeta himself felt sure Thresh could overpower him in a fight.

Rue, on the other hand, was only twelve.  What had she shown them to get such a high score?

“And finally,” said Caesar, “From District Twelve, Peeta Mellark with a score of Ten.”

Effie squealed and threw her hands in the air.  “Yes!” cheered Haymitch pumping his fist in the air.  Portia hugged him around his shoulders and he smiled cheerfully.  He knew he had done well.

“Katniss Everdeen with a score of Seven.”

“That works, too,” said Haymitch nodding at her.  Katniss looked a bit dejected but nodded.  “Seriously, Sweetheart, I can work with that.  Seven’s pretty good.  I can get you some sponsors.”

She seemed to almost smile at that but stopped herself and nodded.

“You both did wonderfully,” said Effie, simply gushing.  “Simply wonderful.  Oh, I’m so proud of you both.”

“Thanks, Effie,” he said, smiling at her.  “I’m glad to know you approve.”

Portia gripped his shoulder and smiled.  “You did great.”

“I can’t even believe I got in the double digits,” he said, chuckling.  “Most Careers don’t even get that high.”

“You impressed them,” said Haymitch, looking at him approvingly.  “This’ll go a long way toward getting sponsors.  But,” he looked at the both of them and glared.  “You two need to get to bed.  Tomorrow, Effie and I’ll be whipping you into shape for your interviews.  After that, we’ll be discussing the actual arena.  You’ll want to be wide awake for both of those sessions.  Off to bed.”

Peeta smiled and said goodnight, walking with Katniss back to their rooms.  Outside her room, Peeta turned to smile at her.  “Good job with the seven.  I’m sure you’ll do really well.”

For a moment, Katniss just looked at him.  Then, she nodded.  “You too,” she said.  “You did great.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to change some of the scores up a bit. I figured that the Careers would all be getting good scores, but that those scores might not be the 10s that Cato and Clove got in the movie. So, I changed it up so only Cato and now Peeta got 10s. Everyone else, I think, got more realistic scores to match the rarity of the higher scores.


	7. Chapter 7

Sitting down for breakfast the next morning, Peeta thought over what would be happening today. Interview prep. He got the feeling it wouldn't be too difficult; Peeta was good at talking to people. He felt confident that he could make a crowd like him.

Despite that, he thought over all the tribute interviews he had seen over the years. Some were memorable and fun, but many were downright train wrecks. District 12, in particular, never did well in the interviews. Still, Peeta did his best not to think about that and ate his food.

When Haymitch sat down, he looked at Katniss and Peeta before reaching for his food. "Today we'll be training for the interviews," he told them. "We need content, presentation, and overall to make sure you don't screw up. I'm talking to you, Sweetheart." He glared at Katniss.

Katniss glared right back. "Alright, fine," she said. "What do we need to do?"

"First, I need to finish my meal," said Haymitch, scooping some oatmeal into a bowl and putting some bacon on his plate. "After that, we can get to the training."

"I thought you said that we needed to go over a lot of stuff," she said to him, glaring petulantly.

Haymitch just smirked at her. "Alright then, Sweetheart. If you want to start now, Effie can take you to get ready in the other room. You'll be starting with presentation."

"What exactly does that entail?" asked Peeta, pushing his empty plate away. "I get content, but…"

"Presentation is all about how you act in front of the camera," chirped Effie, smiling brightly at him. "It's important to make yourself look dignified so that sponsors can tell you're worth supporting. After all, who wants to support a loser?"

"So that's… what exactly?"

"Walking, smiling, sitting," she listed. "Essentially, it is how you make yourself look in front of the camera. That's what I'll be helping you with."

"Go on, Sweetheart," Haymitch said, motioning to the door with his spoon. Peeta grimaced as bits of oatmeal flew onto the table. "You wanted to start prepping."

"Is all of that really necessary?" she asked, almost desperately.

"Yes," replied Effie and Haymitch in unison.

Alone, Haymitch said, "Capitolites are shallow." Effie glared at him. "You, too, Darling." He took a quick bite of his bacon and said, "If you look good, they'll ignore a lot of what you say. In your case, that's especially important because you didn't exactly endear them at the Opening Ceremony. So, get going."

"But wouldn't it be better to—"

"No," said Haymitch. "Trust me, you need this way more than the boy does." He jerked the Spoon and Peeta and sprayed him with oatmeal.

Wiping it off, Peeta said, "Do you mind not covering me with your breakfast?"

Haymitch just smirked at him. "If you can't handle some oatmeal, how're you gonna handle the arena?"

Peeta just smiled cheerfully. "I thought today was about presentation? Should I be expecting Caesar to throw oatmeal at me during the interview?"

His mentor chuckled but put his spoon down. He looked at Katniss and said, "Go. We'll go over your content after lunch."

"Fine," she said, standing up to follow Effie out of the room.

Now alone, Haymitch pushed his plate out of the way and looked at Peeta. He eyed him for a moment before nodding.

"I don't think you'll have too much trouble with the interview," he admitted. "You're likable and I get the feeling you can talk out of your ass if you need too."

"Thanks, I think." He had never heard that saying before, but if it meant that he wouldn't have trouble with the interview… it was probably good.

Haymitch was nodding. "Exactly. So, we'll make this easy. I'm just gonna ask you a bunch of questions and you answer them however you like. If there's a problem, I'll tell you. Got it?"

Peeta nodded. "Let's do it."

And so they began. Haymitch was asking questions — he was alarmingly like Caesar Flickerman when he did so — and Peeta answered. Haymitch was right; it wasn't difficult for him to talk as though on camera.

When they went through the questions, Haymitch was smiling and nodding along, playing up the way Caesar would no doubt act during the interview, and Peeta could only smile. Despite what District 12 may think—and there was a lot of talk on the subject—Haymitch was actually really good as a mentor.

Everyone had been worried that, with Beena hospitalized, Haymitch would just tell the tributes that they should have a drink before they died and leave it at that. It didn't help that last year, the first year where Beena was forced to miss the Games, both tributes died in the bloodbath.

Yet, Haymitch knew how to give Peeta the feel of the interview, and he was willing to stop everything and tell Peeta what he was doing wrong if there was something to correct. Sure, he could be blunt, but he knew what he was doing.

It made Peeta wonder why he hadn't brought home any other tributes. In twenty-four years, he figured one would have had the skills to get home. Granted, he knew that the Careers were pretty brutal, but they could be beaten. How was it that no one had gotten to the end.

Perhaps mistakenly, he asked Haymitch.

The man just looked painfully at him, and his hand inched toward a glass. "Careers win nearly every year," he told him finally. "Since I won the Games twenty-four years ago, only four non-Careers have won. Their level of training is nearly impossible to beat. That's why I agree with you about joining up with them. If you play this right, you can get the benefits of being a Career without the training."

"Four?" he asked, stunned. He had known Careers usually won, but that was ridiculous.

Haymitch nodded. "Four. Johanna Mason. Cecelia Lane. Wiress Pulbien. Gliese Dugald. Careers dominate the early game. Often, the final six are all Careers. You joining up with them might be your only chance. But don't forget, you'll need to get out before things are too tough. If it comes down to a fight against all of them, you will lose."

Peeta nodded. He knew that. They had talked about it. Get out while the Careers still had other people to kill. That was the plan.

That little diversion out of the way, Haymitch pulled them back into interview prep for the remainder of their session. He was pleased with how it went. Nothing would be too difficult for him to manage, and he headed for his session with Effie feeling confident.

Four hours was a long time to go over presentation, but Effie managed it. She had him dressed in a suit, showing him how to sit. Legs can't be too wide; that's uncouth. Back straight. Hands on his lap. Hold that position for as long as possible.

After an hour, Peeta was feeling sore, but he didn't complain. Effie was right to go over all of this. The Capitol was shallow enough to care about how he sat. She gave him dress shoes similar to the ones he would be wearing in the interview, and she told him to walk around. They pinched his toes together, and his heels were sore by the end of it, but Effie had managed to prevent him from squirming from the discomfort.

He didn't have a problem smiling all the time. He did it enough at home that it was second nature to him. When he departed for the evening, Effie smiled at him and said he would do splendidly.

The next morning, he was awoken at noon by his prep team coming in to prepare him for the interview. Caius, Remus, and Valeria were like birds fluttering around him as they yanked him from the bed and prepared him for the interview.

First, of course, was a shower. However, unlike his previous showers where he fiddled with the controls until he finally got the proper temperature, scent, and water intensity, his prep team operated everything and told him to be out in fifteen minutes while he prepared.

Unfortunately, his prep team didn't seem to approve of warm showers. The water was near freezing, and he shivered through the whole thing. Still, he did as Haymitch said the first day and didn't complain.

As he exited the shower, after only five minutes to escape the cold, he re-entered his room to see that the prep team had transformed it into the remake center. Hair product and glitter were on his dresser, a blow dryer on his end table. The chair that had been at his desk was now front and center before a mirror and desk that they had pulled out of their trunk. That, too, was laden with supplies.

As he entered the room, Caius grabbed his arm and hauled him into the chair, hurrying off to work. His hair was expertly styled, and gels were moved through it to resemble flickering flames. Makeup was brushed over his eyelids— "To accentuate the blue," said Remus—and dabbed onto his lips.

His nails were kept short and colorless, but there was still nail polish to apply. Why, since he doubted anyone would be seeing his nails, he had no idea. Still, he let them do as they pleased.

Finally, there was a touch of glitter moved through his hair and blush to be applied to his cheeks. Nothing too noticeable, they assured him. Just something to make sure that he stood out to the crowd.

Portia entered when they finished, carrying a garment bag and wearing a blinding smile. She set the garment bag on the wardrobe and pulled him over to her.

"You are going to shine tonight," she said.

He smiled. "It'll be all because of you, of course."

She just smiled at him and dismissed the prep team. They seemed to grumble a bit about not seeing the finished product, but they did as she said.

"Now," she said, opening the bag. "Let's get you ready."

An hour later, he stood next to Katniss as they took the elevator to the ground floor. He had to admit, she looked stunning. Her dress was composed of thousands of precious gems, and it danced like fire when she moved. Her glossy black hair was in a single braid down her shoulder, and her skin was glowing.

Peeta's suit was complementary to hers but dramatically more understated. The coal black suit was accented with flame designs, and they seemed to shimmer as he moved, as well. Still, while Katniss looked glamorous and inhuman, Peeta looked dignified.

That was the word Portia had used. Dignified. Not too overt as to distract from what he was saying. Rather, his outfit was meant to complement what was coming out of his mouth.

As the door opened onto the main lobby, two Capitol attendants immediately ushered them over to the line of tributes. As they were District 12, they would be going last.

That was good, Effie had assured him. It meant that they would be the most memorable. The last thought the sponsors had.

When the viewing would begin, Caesar would announce them, and they would file out into the camera's' view before taking their seats along the rim of the stage. They would sit quietly and wait for their turn as one by one, Caesar called up the tributes to have their interviews. It would be a long process, but Peeta was ready.

The arena following the interview, however, he had no idea how to handle.

Capitol attendants ushered them onto the stage as music blared. One by one they filed out, circling around as the audience screamed and cheered. Peeta took a deep breath and followed Katniss onto the stage.

The lights blinded him for a moment when he walked out, and the sound was deafening, but he quickly recovered to smile at the audience. Much like most of the other tributes he was smiling at the audience and waving to them. The crowds were screaming and cheering for him.

After a single lap around the stage, his ears thankfully growing accustomed to the noise, he sat in his seat alongside the other tributes. When they took their seats, a spotlight shone onto the stage, illuminating Caesar Flickerman for a moment before panning out to encompass everyone.

"Good evening, Panem," he announced, "and welcome to the SEVENTY-FOURTH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES!"

The crowd burst into a raucous applause. Caesar Flickerman had been the Hunger Games' Master of Ceremonies for over forty years. Through that time, he was always recognizable due to his unchanged appearance. His face had stayed the same and he wore the same suit. Only his hair and lips changed over the passing years. Each year was a different color.

Powder blue was apparently the color of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. Peeta chuckled. The color looked like it belonged on a baby's onesie back in 12. Albeit, dramatically cleaner than a onesie would ever be in 12.

"Now," said Caesar, drawing Peeta back into the proceedings. "Let's start the ball off rolling with the girl from District One: Glimmer Inchtape!"

Glimmer's gown was a see-through gold, and she was clearly playing up the sexy angle. Peeta watched as she smirked at the camera, winking as she sashayed onto the stage.

Right away, it's clear that the Capitol loves her. She's flaunting her stuff overtly and smiling at everyone around her. The audience was eating out of the palm of her hand even before Caesar said "Now, Inchtape. Would I be right in assuming that you're related to Glisten Inchtape? Victor of the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games."

For a fraction of a second, Glimmer seems to freeze. Then, as though Peeta had imagined it, she said "Yes, Caesar. He's both my father and my mentor. He's made sure that I'm more than ready for the arena."

The audience loved it. Screams were sounding around the room as people cheered for her to win and follow in her father's footsteps. Legacies were adored here.

Peeta, however, had a different reaction. He saw Glimmer freeze. She hadn't wanted the question. Moreover, she didn't elaborate on why she had volunteered. In previous years, when a victor's child would volunteer—often from Districts 1, 2, and 4—they would discuss wanting to live up to their parents. Glimmer, though, she quickly brushed it off and turned the discussion back to her skills in the arena. Interesting.

However, Glimmer wasn't the only victor's child in the Games this year. Apparently, Triton was the son of Reef Rayerson, Victor of the Fifty-Second Hunger Games. The Capitol ate up the dual legacy tributes. People were screaming about how exciting it would be. Perhaps winning ran in one of their families.

On and on the tributes went. Most were subdued, relying on Caesar to pull them out of the funk of the Games. He did his best, and all of them came out looking better than they would have looked on their own, but none had the flare that the Careers had.

Finally, Katniss was called to the stage. In the stage-light, she looked even more impressive. The dress shimmered and engulfed her in flames as she moved, and the Capitol audience exploded when they saw her.

"So Katniss, may I call you Katniss?" said Caesar when she sat down. "What have you enjoyed the most since you arrived at the Capitol."

Silence.

Now, Peeta really didn't want to insult her. Katniss was his district partner and, whether or not she felt the same, he considered her something of a friend. Still, the blank look on her face made her seem like an idiot.

"I'm sorry, what?" she asked, seemingly jarred from her thoughts. She looked really confused.

Caesar smiled at her. "I asked what you enjoyed the most since arriving here."

"Oh, um, uh… the lamb stew," she replied lamely.

Alright, thought Peeta, hearing the crowd's laughter when Caesar talked about enjoying it himself. That could have been worse. Granted, Caesar was the one who salvaged it, but that was his job.

As the interview continued, Peeta relaxed in his seat. Katniss wouldn't be winning any acting awards, but the Capitol wasn't turning on her. She was awkward and stiff, but she wasn't sullen like in the Opening Ceremony. The dress Cinna made for her was really incredible, and that alone would make her memorable. When Caesar made her spin around and compared the dizziness to Haymitch, it garnered some easy laughs from the audience. However, the only substance came near the very end.

"Now, Katniss I think it's time we get serious." He placed a hand on hers and smiled at her. "During the reaping, you volunteered for your sister. Can you tell us anything about her?"

For a moment, Katniss was silent. Then, she said, "Her name is Prim and she's the most important person in my life."

"Did she come to visit you after the reaping?" A nod. "What did she say?"

The audience was silent as they waited for her response. "She told me to try to win. And I promised her I would."

"And you will." The buzzer sounded, indicating the end of her interview. Peeta took a nervous breath as he heard Caesar wave her off.

"Finally," said Caesar, smiling blindingly at the cameras. His face was on display for everyone in Panem. "Let's welcome our final tribute of the night. From District Twelve, Peeta Mellark!"

Cheers filled the air as he rose to his feet and walked onto the stage. He smiled at the audience and waved. People were squealing and laughing as he did, no doubt remembering his Chariot Costume.

Standing in front of the seat next to Caesar, Peeta decided to do a deep bow to the Capitol, like he had seen Caesar do at the beginning of the night. The audience loved it and cheered even louder for him. Excellent.

"Now, Peeta," said Caesar as the noise level lowered, motioning for Peeta to sit. He did. "How have you been finding the Capitol?"

"Different," he said immediately. "Very different."

"In what ways?"

Chuckling, Peeta shook his head. "Alright, um, the showers are weird."

"Showers," said Caesar, looking baffled. The audience chuckled. "We have weird showers."

"Yeah, Caesar. Now, tell me, do I still smell roses?"

The host seemed delightfully baffled and leaned in to sniff. Gasping, he said, "You do!"

"I can't figure out how to get rid of the scent!" The audience burst into laughter. "My prep team even set it up for me today, and I think I may have hit a smell button!"

"What about me?" asked Caesar, leaning forward to the audience's amusement. "Do I smell?"

Playing along, Peeta sniffed. "You certainly smell better than me."

"Well, I've lived here longer."

"Fair point." The Capitol audience was loving the back and forth between them. Everyone was laughing and cheering for him.

"Now Peeta. A ten." Caesar was smiling conspiratorially at him. "You've tied for the highest score of the tributes. I have to ask, what did you do?"

He laughed then, throwing his head back just to overplay it. "Caesar, I thought I wasn't supposed to talk about it."

"Just give us something!" said Caesar desperately, the audience echoing his sentiment.

Smirking at them, Peeta said, "Well, let's just say I showed them how I would handle the arena and leave it at that."

As the Capitol groaned about the vague answer, Peeta just smiled. This was going exactly how he wanted it too.

"Very well, then," said Caesar, rolling his eyes dramatically at the crowd. "Let's talk about District Twelve, then. Is there any special someone waiting for you back in your district?"

Peeta was about to answer in the negative, when he froze for a moment, thinking about the Justice Building. "No," he said finally, shaking his head. "There's no one waiting for me."

Caesar just scoffed. "Come on, I don't believe it." The Capitol roared in agreement. "A handsome lad like you. Tell us."

"I'm serious, Caesar," he insisted. "I don't have a girlfriend."

But the interviewer — and the Capitol — wouldn't leave it alone. "How about a boyfriend?"

Peeta blushed and shook his head.

Unfortunately, Caesar caught on. "Well then, Peeta, What's his name?"

For a moment, Peeta was tempted to just let the time run out and not answer the question. There was only a minute left. But, if he was gonna die — and he was hoping to avoid that — then why have any regrets?

"Well, there's this one guy," he admitted, much to the Capitol's delight. He had never said a word to anyone about his preferences before. "We've known each other for years. You know, we grew up together. I've sort of had a crush on him for as long as I can remember."

The audience was silent as he spoke, hanging onto his every word.

"Nothing's ever happened," he hurried to say. "But… I'd like something too."

"So here's what you do," Caesar said reasonably. "Win, go home and try it out. He'll have to say yes."

Peeta blushed. "Maybe."

"But I need to ask, Peeta," Caesar's grin seemed to widen. "Did he come to visit you after you were reaped?"

Sighing, Peeta nodded. "He did," he admitted. The audience cheered. "But, he didn't say goodbye." Peeta couldn't help smiling at the memory. "Everyone else was saying how much they would miss me like I had already died. He just said we'd go get lunch when I got back."

"And I'm sure you will," promised Caesar as the buzzer sounded. Both Caesar and Peeta stood up to deafening applause. Peeta shook Caesar's hand and returned to his place.

When he returned to his spot next to Katniss, she stared at him incredulously. As they finally reentered the Training Center, she hurried over to the elevator, not even waiting for him.

Peeta's jaw clenched at that. Despite himself, he felt his hands shake. This was why he hadn't spoken about it in District 12. He didn't want people to run away from him.

"Twelve," he heard someone call. Gulping, he turned to See all the Careers coming toward him. He winced. He hadn't realized what his announcement might do to his standing in the Career pack. Great.

Cato reached him first and smirked. "So," he said, "you're a cocksucker."

Gulping, Peeta glared at him. "What of it?" Thankfully, his voice didn't shake.

Glimmer just laughed. "Don't scare him, Cato," she admonished. The girl smiled at him. "We don't care," she told him. "I know some of the outlying districts have a problem with it, but One doesn't care at all. Hell, I grew up a few doors down from a gay guy."

She would have grown up in Victors' Village — the area of each district set aside for all the living victors and their families. Who…

"Besides," said Clove, rolling her eyes. "Cato's just messing with you. His brother married a guy a week before the reaping."

At that, Peeta's eyes widened. "Really?" He hadn't known it was legal in the districts for two men to get married.

Cato just glared at him, though he smirked. "What of it?"

Peeta chuckled. "Fair enough. So, what's with the group gathering?"

Algae shrugged. "One, I wanted to apologize for all the flirting."

"I'm sure you must be mortified," mumbled Marvel, much to Cato's amusement.

"And two," she said, raising her voice over him. "What you did took guts. The Capitol may have missed it, but we saw how you were when you talked about that guy. That was your coming out."

"And on national television," chuckled Triton, Glimmer, and Marvel joining him. "I think Johanna Mason was the last person to do that."

"Right," nodded Glimmer. "When she told the districts she was into women and to 'get the fuck over it.'"

"That was a funny interview," noted Cato, shaking his head.

Glimmer looked at Peeta's overwhelmed look and smiled at him. It wasn't like in the interview when she was sultry and alluring, or like training, where she was conniving. This was genuine and sweet. "What we're trying to say is that we don't care. This hasn't affected your place in the alliance."

"Good to know." He said. Then, he heard Effie calling out for him and turned to see her head in his direction.

With a sigh, he said "I should probably be going. I should probably get a good night's sleep before tomorrow."

"Definitely," said Triton seriously.

Cato smirked. "The bloodbath's gonna be epic."

Okay, now was the time to leave. No need to remind Cato that the two of them didn't get along. Besides, he could see other mentors and escorts walking over to interrupt their grouping.

He met Effie halfway, and they both walked over to the elevator. "You were splendid," she gushed, gripping his arm. "Oh, everybody loved you. Really, Peeta, it was magnificent. Remarkable. Everyone's talking about you."

"Good things, I hope."

Effie giggled. "Yes, of course. Marvelous things. That story about your lover back in Twelve. Oh, so dramatic." Wait, when did he mention a lover. He had been talking about a crush. But before he could ask her what she was talking about, the door opened.

Portia squealed and threw her arms around him. With a smile, he hugged her back. She rocked in his arms and whispered "I am so proud of you! That was amazing."

Cinna, for his part, smiled at Peeta. "You did well, Peeta." He patted his shoulder when Portia let go. "You'll be the talk of the town. Everyone was talking about you."

"Which, of course, is exactly what we want," said a smirking Haymitch, holding a glass of caramel color liquid in his hand. "Gotta say, Kid, wasn't sure you had it in you."

Peeta shrugged. "I just don't want to die with any regrets, you know." After all his work, it was like a violation to admit that. "I know I'm trying not to die, but if I do…"

"That speech will go a long way to making sure that doesn't happen," assured Haymitch.

"Let's watch the replay," announced Effie. "They playback is exactly what we need to finish off the day."

Over the course of the entire conversation, Katniss had stood off to the side, looking uncomfortable. Her gaze was downcast, and she failed to speak to anyone.

"Actually, Effie," he said, "Would it be alright if I changed first? This suit's kinda hot."

"Of course, dear," she said, tapping his shoulder. "You and Katniss go change. We wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."

Nodding his head in thanks, he went down the hallway to his room quickly to change. Katniss, too, went to remove her dress. She still refused to look at him.

It wasn't that surprising. The two of them barely knew each other. But she was from 12, and her not looking at him was like the people back home not looking at him. What would his family think about his interview? And Garnet? The two of them had never had relationships before, though a lot of girls had been interested in them.

Would he resent Peeta announcing that he had a crush on him? Some people might assume that Garnet felt the same and ostracize him. He didn't deserve that. Garnet had spent so much energy hiding his sexuality from everyone outside their friend group. He hadn't used names, of course, but Garnet was the only guy to come visit him. Someone was bound to make the connection.

As he re-entered the living room, the thoughts became more and more pressing. He didn't want to ruin Garnet's life. He didn't want to hurt his friend. Garnet was adamant that his parents would kick him out if they knew he was gay. Did he subject him to that?

These thoughts rolled through his head as the interviews played, and Peeta ignored them in favor of his thoughts. He had already seen the interviews.

If he came home, which he was desperately trying to do, then he would have to face Garnet. He wanted to believe that Garnet would be alright with it, but crushes could be weird. If Gar didn't feel the same, would everything between them get awkward?

Before his thoughts could go any further, Peeta heard the anthem play and looked up. Right, the Games began tomorrow, and he needed to be prepared.

Haymitch would be leaving soon, and Peeta wouldn't see him tomorrow, before entering the arena. For the first time since the interviews, Haymitch grew somber.

"This is it," he said, standing in front of them. Peeta immediately got to his feet to look at his mentor.

"Any last advice?" he asked.

"Stay alive," he said bluntly. Unlike the rest of his advice to Peeta, this was perfectly understood for its simplicity. Haymitch could coach him through a dozen different scenarios, but every arena was its own hell. Premade strategies can only get so far.

"Katniss," he looked intently at her. "Get far away from the cornucopia. You're nowhere near ready for the opening bloodbath. Find water. The rest is up to you."

She nodded, staring intently at the man.

"Anything for me?" asked Peeta, smirking at him. Focusing on the Games was good. It was more pressing, and it kept his mind off the problems waiting for him in District 12.

Haymitch smirked at him. "You've got a good idea of what you wanna do in the arena," said Haymitch. "Just be careful that you keep an eye on the other tributes. You don't want them stabbing you in your sleep."

Peeta smirked. "I'll keep an eye out." Katniss was still, in the room, so Haymitch's words were vague enough that she wouldn't necessarily figure out his plan to ally with the Careers. Granted, he wasn't exactly subtle about it during training, but better safe than sorry.

Katniss headed back to her room, but Peeta turned to Portia. "I suppose I'll be seeing you tomorrow," he said, smiling at her.

She nodded. "Yep. I'll be with you right up to the end."

"I'm glad," he said. "It'll be good to see a friendly face."

Portia nodded. "Get some rest. You'll need t for tomorrow."

"Good night."

Sleep was a good idea. He would be waking up early tomorrow to travel to the arena, and after that, there was no telling when he would get to sleep again. The arena could be a toxic swamp that would kill him if he breathed too deeply. Or it could be a frozen tundra that would make any kind of sleep nearly lethal. The possibilities were endless.

Try as he might, Peeta wasn't able to relax into his bead as the images of the arena danced across his mind. He thought about everything that happened in previous Games, and how he was still a longshot despite his best efforts.

Further, he thought of home. He thought of Garnet, Madge, and Delly watching him in the arena as the reality set in. He was going to be a killer. Peeta felt a cold sweat break out on his brow as the thought filtered through his mind.

He wasn't getting sleep. Not with that thought in his head. So, Peeta slipped out from his blanket, and slid on his shoes as he exited the room.

It was dark on the Twelfth Floor as Peeta made his way to the elevator. There weren't any attendants or avoxes milling around like there were in daylight. It was unnerving. Like someone was watching him, though he couldn't say who.

Finally, he entered the elevator—brightly lit and forcing him to blink rapidly when it opened—and he went up to the roof. He took a deep breath and smiled as the cool summer air danced across his face as he wandered to the bench by the garden. The wood was chilly as he sat down, but Peeta didn't care.

He would be entering the arena, and he didn't know what that would mean for him. Everything was set: the Careers were his allies, and he had trained as best he could. Yet… he felt like he was shaking as the seconds ticked by.

Peeta had never thought of himself as a killer. Never thought he was capable of that. Violence wasn't his reaction to anything.  _Worthless,_  his mother's voice whispered in his ear. He was the person who would try to settle an argument before there was a fight.

Maybe he was fooling himself. He couldn't survive this. maybe he should just try to die in the bloodbath and save everyone the trouble of watching him get himself killed.

But… Caesar's words rang in his head. Get back home and see how things might work with Garnet. He wanted that. He wanted to live. Peeta wanted to see Garnet again and find out if there was anything more between them.

And it wasn't just Garnet. He wanted to see Madge and talk to her about nothing while they lounged around her house. Delly crying in the Justice Building wasn't the last memory he wanted of her.

Peeta wanted to live.

Yet, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if he got back. How things would be different. Delly hadn't expected him to come home. She thought him too gentle. Peeta thought she might have a point. If he did survive the arena, if he did kill twenty-four other kids, would they still be there? Would he be the person they knew? He didn't know.

"Couldn't sleep," commented someone, and Peeta jumped. A few feet away from him stood Katniss, a half-smile on her face.

Peeta shrugged. "Too many thoughts in my head," he admitted. "The arena, the bloodbath, District Twelve. I'm just trying to sort through it all."

Katniss nodded, sitting down next to him. "It's crazy that we'll be in the arena in a few hours," she said, staring ahead.

He nodded. "Yeah, but that's not really what worries me." She looked at him like he was crazy. "I mean, it is, but… I guess it isn't either. The arena doesn't scare me as much as the worry that I can't survive it, you know. Like, can I do everything that I need to do? Fight? Kill? I never thought that was me. It  _isn't_  me. And I don't know how to make it work."

She was silent for several moments, and Peeta just looked at her. She was softer than normal. Not glaring at him for a change. Instead, she seemed to be thinking about his words. "What?" she asked. "You don't plan on killing anyone?"

"I didn't say that," he insisted, shaking his head. "I get that I have to kill. I just… I don't know how I'll be me while being a killer. How am I gonna survive afterward if I don't recognize myself, you know? If I'm different when I come back, will my friends see me like they do now?"

"No offense, Peeta," said Katniss, looking mournfully at him, "but who cares? You'll be alive."

"I care," he told her. "And what's the point of being alive if everyone I'm trying to stay alive for hates me? If… if Garnet, Delly, and Madge can't look at me after the arena, then why bother coming out? I'm trying to survive because I want to see them again. More than anything, they make me want to come home. If they aren't waiting at the train for me…" He trailed off.

Katniss looked at him oddly. "What?" she asked. "If they're not there, then what?"

Peeta sighed. "Then I'll have died ever more than if I get stabbed in the arena," he finished. "If the people I'm doing it for aren't there then what's the point?"

"Surviving," she said, angered for the first time. "The point is surviving."

"But what about your sister?" he asked her, and she leaned back gobsmacked. "If you get home and she can't even look at you, would that be alright? Would winning be alright if the person you're winning for can't look you in the eyes? Or, would it be better to die in the arena knowing that she loves you?"

For a moment, Katniss didn't say anything, and Peeta knew she was getting it. She just looked at him, sad and alone as he felt. "I wouldn't survive it," she admitted. "Prim's everything to me. If she hated me for being in the arena… you're right, it would be easier to die than face that."

Peeta smiled as she said that. She understood. "But I won't have too," she insisted, looking fiercely at him. "Prim's my sister, and she loves me. There isn't anything I could do that would change that."

"The arena's a world-changing place," he pointed out.

"Not enough to change that," she replied firmly. "Prim and I are close enough that I don't have to worry about her opinion of me changing because of what I do in the arena. And, for what it's worth, I think the same's true for the people you care about. They won't fault you for surviving."

Peeta shrugged. "Delly doesn't think I'm a killer," he said, "and I don't know how Garnet would be able to…"

Remembering earlier, he trailed off and looked at her. She was looking at him. The atmosphere got really awkward really fast. Peeta was looking for an escape when she blurted out, "I'm sorry."

Startled, he looked at her blankly.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "For the way I acted after the interview. It was uncalled for."

"Not a big deal," he said, trying to brush it off with a trembling smile. "I'm sure everyone back home would have done a lot worse."

"But that's no excuse," she said, playing with the hem of her shirt. "I just… I guess I didn't expect it. You know…  _that_ always seemed like something so Capitol. Something that wasn't done in District Twelve, and I didn't expect it."

"Like I said," he repeated, "it's no big deal."

"I just," she said haltingly. "I wanted to say that I don't get it. I've never seen anything like back in Twelve, and I didn't expect it. But, what you do in your life is your business. Looking down on and judging the way someone else lives is what the Capitol does. So, I'm sorry."

Peeta shrugged. "It's fine," he said. "I didn't expect everyone to just jump around and ask me about boys. And thank you, for that. Not judging is all I'm hoping for."

They sat there, staring over each other's shoulders for a moment before Katniss got up. "I should probably get some sleep," she said. "It's a big, big,  _big_  day tomorrow."

Peeta chuckled, standing up as well. "That it is. I should get some sleep, too."

The two of them walked in companionable silence to the elevator and descended to the Twelfth Floor for their final night before entering the arena.

In his bed, Peeta thought over what Katniss said about her sister. Prim was Katniss' whole world, and the two of them were nearly inseparable. They were so important to one another that it never occurred to Katniss that Prim might not be there for her if she got back.

Thinking of Garnet, of his surety that Peeta would be seeing him in a few weeks, made him smile. He thought the two of them shared that kind of closeness.

Madge was quiet and kind to anyone. She was friends with Katniss when no one else was simply because the two often avoided attention. She wasn't the type to hold someone's circumstances against them.

And Delly had a smile for everyone. She wouldn't be running away when he came home. She would be smiling and hugging him.

Tensely, he drifted off to sleep with the thoughts of his family's reaction to his return swirling around in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A review from Yuste on ff.net brought up the point about Katniss' apparent weakness compared to the book and I wanted to address it. First, a lot of Katniss' strength comes from understanding her thoughts. Her inner revulsion with the Capitol and their way of life. Peeta doesn't see that, and he isn't in love with her, so he doesn't care to look. As such, we're seeing Katniss from the perspective of someone who she'll be locked in the arena with to fight. She was canonically cold to him in the books during that initial time, and a lot of the warmth came from Peeta trying to be nice. That isn't here, so she's going to be more distant.   
> Yuste, you brought up a good point: Katniss is badass. But, the only badass thing she did in the early section of the book is shoot at the Gamemakers, and I intentionally retconned that for two reasons. One, Haymitch went through the Games too and would have known that the Gamemakers wouldn't pay attention. So, I figure that he reasonably would have told her and Peeta about that. As such, the rage Katniss felt at being ignored isn't there because she knew it would happen. Two, I always thought it was weird how she was rewarded for that shot. In my version of the Capitol, it is much more competent than in the books. Therefore, such an action wouldn't be tolerated, and Katniss would have had mutts set upon her on the first night. I didn't want that, so Katniss couldn't shoot them.   
> As to your point about Peeta being too much like Gale, I just disagree. Peeta was said in the books to excel at hand-to-hand combat, wrestling, weight-lifting, and camouflage. He's also an expert actor and manipulator. So, the weapons that he uses in training -- swords and axes and maces -- are weapons that someone who is sufficiently strong enough could use competently. Particularly, the last two as they rely more on force than precision. His better score isn't because I'm trying to make him out to be the best, it's because he had multiple sparring partners in training to show what the arena was like. I envision the Careers not doing that because they're too focused on what they're best at --knife throwing for Clove, archery for Glimmer, spears for Marvel, and a sword for Cato -- than anything else. So, he was showing them his competence in a fight and how he would do in the arena. In that, I think is more in line with what Katniss should have done in the book. Instead of being openly rebellious, Peeta showed that he could put on a show for them.  
> Finally, Peeta is nice. He has difficulty rationalizing what he's doing. But, and this is important, he isn't in the arena yet. This is terrifying because he's watched the Games, but it isn't real for him. Not fully. Further, as I mentioned previously, Peeta is an expert actor. He can put on a facade of cocky confidence and fit in with the Careers because he knows what they respond too. Rest assured, when the Games begin, Peeta does have several moments where he nearly breaks down -- and a few where he does.  
> I don't want you to feel like I'm attacking you. I'm glad that you brought up your issues in the review. I'm only writing such a lengthy post because you brought up a lot of points that I feel are important to address but can't be worked into the story organically because of perspective restraints. I hope I addressed your issues.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took a bit longer than I intended. Sorry About That.

The platform was right in front of him.  The silver platform that would raise him into the arena and usher in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.  Above him was the arena that could lead to his death.  Everything was culminating at the moment where he would step onto that platform and rise up into the arena.”

“How’re you holding up?” asked Portia, drawing his gaze to her.  She stood there with a simple crate in her hands.

Peeta gave her a half-smile.  “As well as anyone, I guess.  What’s that?”

She placed the crate on the table to the side of the room and opened it.  “This is what you have to wear for the Games,” she explained, pulling out the clothes for him.  You should get changed; there are only about ten minutes left.”

Tributes all wore the same outfit to ensure that no one had any unfair advantage in the arena.  This year, the outfit was tan pants, a green shirt, and a black jacket that reached Peeta’s knees. 

“It’ll be cold in there,” warned Portia, inspecting the jacket closely.  “This material reflects body heat.”

“Good to know,” he commented with a deep breath.  “Do you think I can survive this?”

Peeta hadn’t wanted to think about that question since he decided to join up with the Careers—it was probably why he rarely thought of anything else.  Still, this was the first time he spoke it aloud.  Speaking that question meant worrying about the arena and his probable doom.

Thankfully, Portia smiled at him.  “I know you can,” she said to him.  “You may not be as big as some of these guys, but you’re smart.  The tributes won’t be able to keep up.”

It was sweet, but probably an exaggeration.  That must have shown on his face, though, because Portia smiled at him.  “You’ve been prepping all week for this,” she said.

“Some of these people have been prepping all year!”

“And you managed to outscore them,” she noted.  “Yes, some of these people have been training for years, but that didn’t stop you from overshadowing them in training.  Peeta, you can win this.”

Hesitantly, he looked at her.  “Training is one thing,” he said, feeling unbelievably small.  “Killing is another.  I don’t know if I can do that.”

Portia just rolled her eyes.  “Do you want to go home?” she asked bluntly.

He nodded.

“Then you’ll have to kill,” she responded reasonably.  Peeta gulped and looked down.  “Look, Peeta, I can’t go into that arena for you.  This is an impossible situation.  It’s more than anyone should have to deal with.  But you have too.  You can get angry about it.  You can cry about it.  But you still have to deal with it.”

Peeta glanced at the clock over the doorway.  Only five minutes before he would be raised into the arena.  “I don’t know how.”  He had thought that joining up with the Careers would make this easier.  They were the main threat in the arena, after all.  Working with them would give him food and security.

Only now, faced with entering the arena and actually using all the skills he had been learning, he couldn’t fathom what that would mean.  How could he just kill twenty-three people?

You can’t, his mother’s voice whispered venomously at him.  You’re just a worthless screw-up.  Everyone knows it.  Even you know it.

“Deal with it one problem at a time,” she suggested, jarring him from the thoughts of his mother.  She looked soberly at the clock.  “Focus on surviving.  Get past the bloodbath and take it a day at a time.”

“TRIBUTES MUST ENTER THE PLATFORM,” announced a voice over the intercom.  Two minutes to launch.”

Peeta stepped up to the platform when Portia gasped.  “I almost forgot.”  He turned to her.  In her hand was the gold bangle that Garnet had given him.  She took his left wrist and slid it on, the cool metal slipping under his jacket sleeve comfortably.  “I only just got it back from the inspection committee.  Apparently, there was some sort of crisis with another tribute’s token.”

The bangle had been taken for inspection days ago.  Peeta hadn’t realized how good it felt to have it back on his wrist until he was spinning it around his wrist.  It was a reminder of Garnet.  A reminder of what he was doing all this for. 

I will see you again, he thought to himself.  Just a few weeks from now.

“ONE MINUTE TO LAUNCH,” announced the voice, and Peeta stepped onto the platform.

A clear metal tube sealed him in.  Portia sent him a final smile as he rose up out of the ceiling.  The metal tube swept him up as he sped to the surface, opening onto a piercing golden light.

Peeta blinked rapidly to clear his eyes from the sun as he looked around the arena.  The cornucopia was at the center of a massive field of packed dirt.  Directly across from Peeta was a glistening blue lake while and there seemed to be a deep cliff off to his right.  A quick glance behind him showed that the remainder of the field was rimmed with pine trees. 

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!  LET THE SEVENTY-FOURTH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES BEGIN!” 

Gongs sounded, and the holographic timer burst to life above the cornucopia, counting down the minute that they had to wait before they could charge into the bloodbath. 

Around the field, piles of supplies were arranged.  At the mouth of the cornucopia were the weapons and most useful of survival skills.  The farther from the cornucopia one went, the less valuable the supplies. 

Such a large field could mean anything for the opening bloodbath.  Certainly, there would be tributes who went for the goods at the center.  Others would scour the edge of the piles to secure supplies.  This large a distance could mean that more people remain behind to be killed.  Alternatively, it could mean that it was more difficult to kill the ones who enter the battle. 

Peeta desperately hoped most people chose the latter.

Thirty seconds remained on the countdown as Peeta glanced at his sides.  The girl from District 8 was at his left and the boy from 6 to his right.  Both looked sickly and terrified, so he paid no attention to them.  Maybe they would get away, though he doubted it.

Peeta prepared to run, angling himself toward the cornucopia intently.  He was a Career, now.  He needed to get into the thick of the action, and that would be at the mouth of the horn.  Not to do so would be a death sentence.

Seconds counted down as he waited, watching as the final ten seconds descended on them all.  He would need to grab a weapon as he ran.  Eight seconds.  There looked to be a knife in a pile about fifteen yards from him.  He would grab it when he went.  Five seconds.  One problem at a time.

Three.

Two.

One.

The gong sounded.

Breaking into a sprint, he directed himself toward the identified pile.  He barely slowed as he ducked to grab the knife and ran toward the center.  Around him, he could see about half the tributes doing the same.

From his side came barreling the girl from 10.  She was clenching her jaw as she ran at him, brandishing a slim knife as she ran.

Jerking to the side of her swing, Peeta grabbed her and threw her to the ground.  However, she managed to roll out of the way when he moved to stab her. 

Instead, his knife shattered on impact with the ground and he huffed.  Damn thing was useless. 

Abandoning the broken weapon, Peeta gripped the girl’s arms as she tried to stab him again.  Unfortunately for her, he was much larger and easily pushed himself to his feet.  Retaliating, the girl flailed out and kicked him in the side.

Though the thump stung a bit, 10 didn’t have the weight or the force to make it really painful, so he twisted her wrist.  “Ahh,” she cried as he heard it crack, the knife falling to the ground.

Finally, he hurled her away, her head hitting the ground, where she lay.  For a moment, as Peeta ran away, he thought she was unconscious, but no. She was rolling to her side as though to get up. 

He could go after her, he supposed, but there was no one around to see it.  Except for the cameras, he supposed, but the Careers were his main worry now.  So, he left the girl to get back up. 

Peeta retrieved the knife from the ground and continued toward the center of the cornucopia.  Already, he could see various pairings of tributes squaring off in fights.  Most were squabbling like the District 10 girl, but the boy from 6 was already face down in a pool of blood. 

As he reached the cornucopia, Peeta could see Triton squaring off against the boy from 11.  His opponent was remarkably nimble as he moved in and out of Triton’s spearing.

The girl from 7, one of the healthier tributes, already had an ax in hand as she charged at Peeta.  Great.  One of the only tributes who really knew how to use a weapon.

Dodging to the side, Peeta kicked out the girl’s legs and sent her crashing to the ground.  Though she knew how to swing an ax, she wasn’t a fighter. 

He gripped the ax’s handle and threw it to the side.  Then, he fell on the girl and began punching her face.  The first hit stung his hands, but he quickly moved past that feeling as the second hit connected.

Before he could end the fight, though, the boy from 5 charged at him.  Unlike many of the others, he was carrying a sword and was ready to use it.

Peeta ducked down on top of the dazed girl, grunting as 5 ran too fast and tripped over him.  As he crashed to the ground, Peeta jumped to his feet and hurried to the cornucopia.  The girl from 10’s knife was just as flimsy as the one that broke on him.  No wonder they were so far from the cornucopia.

The nearest pile of supplies was about ten feet from him, and he frantically threw open one of the crates to reveal a mace.  Good.  An easy weapon to swing with brute force.  He picked it up.

“Gahh!” he heard someone yell and spun to see the boy from 5 advancing on him again.  The sword wobbled in hand and his breathing was heavy, but he kept moving.

Faster than he thought possible, Peeta swung the mace to block the sword.  His hands gripped both the handle and the shaft just below the spiked top. 

Upon contact with the sword, both the mace and Peeta’s arms rang.  Pushing upward, he knocked the boy off balance and, without thinking, bashed the mace into his head. 

There was a sickening crunch as the boy from 5 hit the ground.  His skull was embedded with the steel head of the mace, and blood exploded outward, coating both the ground and Peeta’s boots in the sticky liquid.

Gulping, he placed a foot on the boy’s body and tugged at the mace.  There was a sickening lurch as fragments of the bone feel onto the ground as the mace sprang free.  Now completely red, the spikes still had bits of brain clinging to the grooves.

Peeta just stood there, staring at the body of the boy he had murdered.  His arms shook, though not from the stress of the fight.  Around him, the puddle of blood grew.  What did I do, he thought to himself.

“Twelve,” he heard someone snap, snapping him from his thoughts.  He turned to see Triton glaring at him.  “Don’t lose your head.”

Nodding, Peeta looked around.  “Right.”   The girl from 7 was gone.  She must have crawled away while the bloodbath was happening.

Not far from the mouth of the cornucopia was the boy from 8.  He was picking up a backpack with a smirk on his face.  He was about Peeta’s age. 

Deal with one problem at a time.

Peeta broke into a run, nearly slipping on the dirt now soaked with blood.  Mace in hand he swung it in an upward arc and felt the thump of it connecting with the boy’s stomach.

Yanking back his weapon, Peeta smashed it into the boy’s hand is it reached for the knife by his side.  There was a sickening crack as the boy screamed.

However, before Peeta could finish the boy off, he gasped on a mouthful of blood as a spear pierced his throat.  The boy fell lifelessly to the ground.

Looking up, Peeta locked eyes with Triton.  They shared a single nod and went off.

As they circled the cornucopia, they noticed that only the Careers were left in the area.  Everyone else had either cut and run or was dead.  At the mouth of the cornucopia, the seven tributes met up.

_BOOM!_   _BOOM!_   _BOOM!_   _BOOM!_   _BOOM!_   _BOOM!_ _BOOM!_

Seven cannons for seven dead tributes.

Cato was all business as he surveyed the area, blood splattered across his jacket and arms as he held a blood-soaked sword in his hand.  “Seven tributes,” he said, before shrugging.  “Not bad.”

This wasn’t like the Career packs that they showed on tv.  During mandatory viewing, they were whooping and cheering for the kills that they had made.  Here, only Clove seemed to be smiling. 

Marvel was surveying the area alongside Cato.  His arms were shaking, and it was lucky that he didn’t have his spear in hand.  It would have been little use to him.  His eyes were more solemn than Peeta had ever thought possible.

Glimmer’s eyes were wide as she looked around at the bloody field.  Her hair, held back in a ponytail, was threaded with blood.  She had a bloody lip but was otherwise alright.  However, her jaw seemed to tremor as she looked around.

Algae had crossed her arms tight across her chest as she looked down to the ground.  She wasn’t shaking, but she was tense until Triton placed a hand, wet with blood, on her shoulder.

Peeta didn’t think it had been that long in the arena.  Maybe ten minutes.  Fifteen.

“Get all the packs of those who managed to grab something,” ordered Cato, defaulting to lead the pack.  “We should get out of here before it starts to smell.”

Nodding, Peeta walked over to the boy from 8.  The boy he had injured so Triton could kill.  His guts were spewed out over the hard dirt, and his blood was a massive lake against the endless brown.  His hand, which Peeta had smacked, lay in pieces where the hit had occurred.

Trembling hands removed the black backpack from the kid’s back.  Christian.  Right, his name was Christian.  Christian Williams.  The bag came loose, but Peeta lurched to the side and released the contents of his stomach onto the pool of Christian’s blood.  Blood he had spilled.

Gasping, he puked more and more until he couldn’t puke any longer, and his throat burned.  Even then, his stomach continued clenching.  Peeta gasped and shook as he watched his vomit mix with the blood.  Tears poured from his eyes as he shuddered.

“Here,” someone said, softly.  In front of his face was a bottle of water.  Struggling to turn his head, Peeta saw Glimmer smiling at him.  “You need this.”

The bottle shook in her hand as she handed it to him.  It was plastic.  One of those disposable bottles that they had had during training.  He grimaced as his bloody hands left marks on the bottle.  Still, he twisted the top and gulped down the water.  Though cool, it felt flavorless on his tongue.  In seconds, he had drained the bottle.

“Sorry,” he said, dropping it to the ground.  “I should’ve offered.”

She just smirked at him.  “I’m kind, not stupid,” she told him.  “There’s a crate of them back at the mouth.  Besides, I figured you could use it.  Capitol knows we could all use a drink.  Though, admittedly, something stronger would have been preferred.”

Peeta chuckled.  “Now I suddenly get Haymitch.  You’re right.  Can I get a beer?”

The two of them sat together for a moment before Clove yelled, “Get over here!”

Peeta gripped the pack as he rose unsteadily to his feet.  His arm shook as he slid the bag over his shoulder and followed Glimmer back to the group in a daze.

Together they journeyed to the edge of the field; choosing the lake as their camp rather than the woods. 

“What should we do first,” asked Algae.  Behind them, the hovercraft was descending to pick up the bodies of the dead tributes.  One by one each body was taken.  The blood they had spilled, however, remained.

At the lake’s edge, Peeta stuck the mace’s top in, swirling it around to remove the bloody remains.  A cloud of reddish blood spread out over the water as it dissipated. 

“We need to secure the supplies,” he said, turning to face them.  All of them looked at him, so he continued.  “Tributes are still gonna be in the area.  But, they’re all running away from us.  We may catch on or two, but someone might be able to loot the supplies while we’re gone.  We need to move everything to a single pile and guard that.  This way, no one can slip past a guard while we’re gone.”

“No one’s gonna steal from us,” scoffed Marvel, shrugging. 

Triton shook his head.  “I don’t know about that,” he told the boy from One.  “Peeta makes a good point.  If the supplies are spread out, then it’ll be easier to miss someone grabbing the supplies from the edge of the clearing.  We put it in one location and we have less ground to protect.”

“But like Twelve said,” insisted Clove, glaring at them, “all of the tributes are close by.  We can take a few of them out.”

“I like Peeta’s plan,” said Glimmer hastily.  The girl from 2 glared at her.  Grimacing, she said, “If we secure our supplies, then we can hunt everyone down tonight.”

“Good point,” said Triton, leaning against a boulder on the side of the lake.  “If we let them exhaust themselves before hunting, they’re not gonna put up a fight.  We can take them out quickly.”

Clove glared at him.  “I like it when they fight.”

“But there’s no point to that,” noted Cato, looking back at the cornucopia.  He seemed to be thinking hard for a moment.  “Twelve’s right.  We secure our supplies and head out hunting later.”

She clearly didn’t like it, but Clove nodded.

“The hovercraft’s gone,” noted Marvel, moving toward the cornucopia.  Slowly they followed behind him.

Peeta looked around the clearing.  Most of the piles were littered around, and many were disrupted and thrown all over the place.  It would take a while to clean everything up.  “Where exactly are we making camp,” he asked.  “We should know that before moving anything.”

“The cornucopia,” said Glimmer confused by his question.  None of them seemed to understand his confusion.

“But that doesn’t provide a lot of cover, does it?”  He pointed to the gigantic horn.  “The horn is dead center of a huge clearing.  Sure, we can pick up anyone that’s running at us.  But if someone’s on watch, they’re only gonna be looking in one direction.  Another tribute could sneak up on them while the rest of us are asleep.”

“Where do you suggest?” asked Marvel doubtfully.

Algae responded for him, though.  “The lake.”  She turned back to the glittering blue lake.  “We’ll only have to guard ourselves on three sides, then no one will be able to swim at us without disrupting the water and alerting us.”

Triton nodded.  “Plus we’ll be able to refill our water supplies easily.”

“There’s plenty of water.”

“Yes, Cato,” said Triton, as though talking to a small child.  “We know.  But, with seven people, it’s gonna run out fast.  Having a nearby water supply is important.”

“We’re still in the clearing,” noted Marvel, warming to the idea.

“I say we pick a spot and be done with it,” said Glimmer, rolling her eyes.  “The lake is fine.”

Cato nodded and said, “Alright.  But first, does anyone need first aid?  I don’t need any of you dying before we take out a few more tributes.”

Glimmer had a cut on her arm that needed to be wrapped, apparently.  Triton needed some ice packs for where Thresh nearly strangled him.  There were red marks of the handprint that had nearly killed him wrapped around his neck. 

For his part, Peeta didn’t feel injured at all.  None of the tributes he had fought had done any serious damage, and he smiled slightly at that.  He was with the Careers, and he had survived the bloodbath.

“HEY!” yelled Cato, breaking into a run.  Peeta’s head whipped around to see the boy from 3 running from the cornucopia, a bag in hand.  In moments, they were all chasing him down.

Peeta was fast, but Cato was full on sprinting to take the guy down.  Over his head, he raised the sword, about to impale the boy, when Three said: “I have a way to protect your supplies!”

Cato, who had been so intent on killing the boy, froze over him.  This distraction gave the group the time they needed to catch up.  “Talk,” he said shortly.

“There are mines all around the district plates,” the boy from 3 explained.  “I can restart them.  If I bury them around the supplies then you can leave the food unattended, and anyone who tries to steal it will die.”

Reactivate the mines?  Peeta stared at the boy in open shock.  He had never heard of that being done.  Clove was smiling maniacally at the suggestion, and Peeta could see the others seemed to like the idea as well.

“How about we go over there to talk about it,” suggested Peeta to the group.  He looked at 3 and said, “If you try to run, I’m sure Cato will kill you.”  The bigger boy nodded in agreement.

“I like this plan,” said Clove without preamble.  “It’s bloodthirsty, vicious, and it’ll stop anyone from coming at us.”

“Definitely,” said Marvel, smiling.  “I’m all for it.”

“Like I said before,” said Glimmer.  “I just want to settle on a plan.”

“Am I the only one noticing all the flaws in this plan?” demanded Peeta.  The Careers turned to him, confused.  Rolling his eyes, he said, “One, if someone comes at our supplies, yeah, they die.  But our supplies get blown up, too.”

Their eyes widened as he said that.

“Two, if he can turn them on, who’s to say he can’t detonate them while we’re asleep and kill us all.”  Glimmer and the two from 4 were grimacing at him.  “And three, if he puts a bunch of mines around the food, how’re we gonna get to our supplies.  Especially after we kill him.  He’s setting us up.”

As he spoke, Cato’s glare got harder and harder.  Peeta gulped and took a step back.  He clenched his mace tightly and prepared to swing. 

Suddenly, Cato was striding over to the boy from 3.  “You think you can screw with us,” he growled, seething at the boy.  Though the boy scrambled to his feet and tried to run, Cato grabbed his arms.

He was trying to talk with the arm around his throat, trying to say something about not wanting to betray them.  Cato paid him no mind.

Instead, Peeta flinched as he heard the crack of Cato snapping the boy’s neck.  His body fell to the ground.

_BOOM!_

Eight.

“Come on,” said Cato, glaring at the corpse at his feet.  “Start moving everything to the lake.  We’ll hunt at nightfall.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm really bad at updates. Apologies.

The supplies of the cornucopia were extensive.  There were medical supplies and tents, plastic wrap, brooms, backpacks and sleeping bags, crates of oil and buckets of coal.  Everything was useful in some way.

It was also spread out extensively over the clearing, and it took hours to collect everything into a reasonable pile.  The massive crates were heavy, and they had to work in teams to carry them over to their preferred campsite.  In short, setting up camp took up the remainder of the day.

As the sun set over the arena, reflecting light off the lake and making it difficult to look in that direction, they were filling their backpacks for travel.

Peeta had taken a large black bag — not the boy from 8’s bag — and began to fill it.  First, he took a first aid kit, filled with gauzes, fever pills, etc.  There was no way to know whether he would need to fix up a wound while away from camp.  Furthermore, though he hoped it was far off, he knew that he would need to break with the Career pack at some point, and it would be helpful to have supplies on hand when that time arrived. 

Next, two large bottles of water, filled to the brim, entered the bag.  When they left camp, they would be losing easy access to water, and Peeta didn’t want to risk being without any.  Furthermore, even if he had a lot of sponsors, he wouldn’t want to risk having all his money spent hydrating him when he may need something later.  To that end, he also brought a bottle of iodine. 

A sleeping bag, two sleeves of crackers, a container of dried meat, and a box of matches in case they couldn’t return quickly.

“We need to figure out who’s staying behind,” declared Cato, standing up.  He, too, had packed his bag and was looking around the group.

Marvel raised his hand and said, “I don’t mind guarding camp.”  He shrugged and sat down.  “Someone should stick around with me, though.”

Cato looked around the group and seemed to weigh them each on their merits.  Finally, he said, “Clove, you’re staying behind.”

“What?” she exploded, glaring furiously at him.  “No way in hell am I sticking around while you guys go hunting.  Leave Twelve behind; he’s gonna be no use.”

“If he’s no use then why do you want him to be guarding our supplies?” retorted her district partner.  “Besides, when we get back, you two are gonna be hunting on your own while we rest.  Think about it.”  Cato smirked at her as he spoke.  “You won’t have to compete for the kills.  You can just take them.”

“Four can stay behind,” she insisted. 

Cato shrugged.  “It might be better if three of you are guarding the supplies,” he agreed, making her groan.  “But the four of us can take the next hunt.  Come on, Clove, we’ll only be gone for a day or two.  Three tops.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but Triton stepped forward.  “I don’t mind sticking around,” he said.  “Who knows, someone might come to get supplies while you’re out and we’ll get the next kill.”

Unbelievably, Clove seemed to perk up.  What was the matter with this girl?  Even Cato, who had been bloodthirsty and ruthless during training, had sobered up in the arena.  When the Games began, though, a hysterical light shimmered in Clove’s eyes.

“Fine,” she said somewhat less reluctant.  “The three of us are first guards.  Try to get back in two days, or so.  I don’t want to miss any good kills.”

Peeta rolled his eyes as the hunting party stood to move.  He latched his mace to a belt loop, thankful that the weapon could easily unhook if he needed it.  He also grabbed two serrated knives.  He tied the sheaths to his belt behind the mace and secured his bag.

Those in the hunting party were similarly equipped.  Glimmer had a silver bow and quiver of arrows on her back, and a short sword sheathed at her side.  Cato’s large silver sword was gripped in his hands.  Algae had a spear slung across her back and a knife at her side.  None of them had large packs like Peeta’s.

He couldn’t help but look at the group of them incredulously.  They were supposed to be the best fighters in the arena, but it was like they had no concept of survival.  Peeta had always had just enough to eat back home at the bakery.  His family had needed tesserae, but his mother refused to allow them to sign up.  She wouldn’t have them “affiliated with the Seam trash.”  He knew what it was like to be hungry.

Looking at these people, he could tell they were better fed and had proper food.  They were stocking up on weapons and sleeping bags, but they didn’t seem to realize that there were other things that they would need.

Especially, Peeta thought wryly, if the supplies got destroyed.  That would certainly put a damper on their odds in the Games.

As Peeta moved to stand next to them, the girls smirked.  “You know, Peeta,” cooed Glimmer.  “We’re only gonna be gone a day or two.  You might be a little overstocked.”

Peeta just smiled.  “Better overstocked than under.”

“Let’s get moving,” snapped Cato, shooting them a deadpan look.

Glimmer giggled as the three of them walked over to the woods with Cato. 

“Tributes are gonna want to hide in the woods,” noted Algae.  “If we just go away from the cornucopia, we should find something.”

“Unfortunately,” huffed Cato, looking at the bushes and trees angrily, “Everyone hurried out of here so quickly, it’s impossible to figure out which direction they went.  All the branches are cracked, and no one who skipped the cornucopia would have any wounds.

“I saw Twelve’s girl heading in this direction right after the cornucopia,” said Glimmer, pointing to the left of the lake.  “We may get lucky.”

Momentarily, Peeta considered telling them about Katniss’ archery skills but quickly decided against it.  If he couldn’t win, he wanted her too.  There was no need to make that any more difficult than it already was.

So, the group of them headed into the woods where Glimmer insisted Katniss had run.  Granted, Peeta was sure she was right.  Katniss would feel most at home in the woods, and she would absolutely follow Haymitch’s advice to find a water source. 

Despite that, locating a single tribute in the massive forest was difficult.  Especially when that tribute was a talented hunter and knew how to avoid detection.  It was like searching for a needle in a haystack. 

Peeta nearly suggested they stop for the night but held his tongue.  He didn’t need them thinking he was weak.  Or worse, thinking that he was trying to save Katniss.  So, he kept his mouth shut.  For over an hour, they searched before the Anthem of Panem sounded across the arena.

Projected onto the sky, somehow clearly visible from all directions, was the seal of the Capitol.  The entire pack stopped to look up at it.  Though they knew the number of people killed, they had forgotten to check who exactly it was that died in the bloodbath.

First to appear was the boy from 3, quickly followed by the girl from 3.  District 3 was out of the Games.  Given their affinity for technology and innovation, that was probably a good thing.  Peeta remembered a Games he had seen on tv a few years ago — a repeat of some previous Games — where the boy from Three had electrocuted six tributes at once with a wire trap to win himself the Games.  Peeta thought about the boy’s plan with the mines and shuddered.  That could have been a disaster.

The boy from 5 was next and Peeta shuddered.  Though the image above showed the boy while he was alive, all Peeta could see was his caved in skull where Peeta had bashed it in.  He worked to swallow the bile that rose at the thought.

Both from 6 and the boy from 7 had also died.  So, the girl he had been fighting earlier managed to escape.  He hadn’t been sure if she had crawled off to die or be killed by someone else.  Despite himself, Peeta couldn’t help feeling relieved.

Finally, the boy from 8 and the Girl from 10 were projected onto the sky.  Did he kill her, too?  He didn’t think he had thrown her that hard.  And it had seemed as though she was getting up when he left.  Who knows.  She landed on her head; anything could have happened.  The anthem of Panem played, and the sky grew dark. 

“So,” said Cato, sounding nonchalant.  “I know I killed three, and the guy from Six.  Clove got Seven’s boy.  Who killed the others?”

“I killed Six’s girl,” said Glimmer, eyes vacant as she stared up at the sky.  He could tell that she was trying to be interested but was failing.  “I think Marvel stabbed Ten’s girl.  She was already on the ground, though, so who knows what happened?”

“Me,” said Peeta, just looking up.  His voice was a monotone.  “I hit her.  Threw, her, really,” he corrected.  “I don’t think it was lethal, so Marvel probably ended it.  And, um, I got Five.”

“Who did in Eight?”

Peeta looked away.  “Triton.”  He would say no more on the subject.

Knowing who was left, the Careers began moving through the trees, looking for any signs of movement or tributes.

Despite the rocky start, after three hours of walking through the dark, Algae found something.

“Guys,” she called them, a little to their left.  “You’re gonna want to see this.”

When they moved past the trees obstructing them, they found Algae kneeling on the ground, looking intently at something.  Peeta had no idea what, and it seemed Glimmer didn’t either.

“What?” she demanded, looking.

Algae smirked at her.  “Temper, temper,” she admonished.  Then, more seriously, she said, “There’s blood here.”  She pointed to a spot in front of her, and Peeta noticed she was right.  There was a splatter of blood along the path.  Algae glanced to the side and stood up.

“It leads that way,” she pointed.  “If we follow it, we’ll find who it came from.” 

Cato smirked.  “Then what are we waiting for?” he asked.  “Let’s move.”

And so they were off.  Algae was an excellent tracker, and she began noticing signs of a tribute’s movement that Peeta would have never noticed.  A broken twig here.  A mark of blood there.  It was all leading in essentially a straight path, and they followed it.

Unfortunately, the injured tribute was pretty fast.  Or fortunately, depending on what side of the hunt you were on.  Peeta couldn’t help but hope that the tribute managed to get away.

That hope was realized when, two hours later, according to the watch Cato used as a token, they ran into a stream that cut across their path.  There was no trail to pick up on the other side.

“Sorry guys,” said Algae, shrugging.  “Tomorrow, we can search up and down this side of the river.  I may be able to find another trail to follow.”

“What do you mean, tomorrow?” demanded Cato, looking incredulous.  “We’ll find them tonight.”

“Cato,” said Glimmer, touching his arm gently.  Peeta had to give her credit; he wouldn’t have done that.  “We’re exhausted.  It’s three in the morning, and we don’t know where to look.  We spent all day setting up camp.  We need to take a break, or we’ll crash before we even find the tribute.”

“We’re fine,” he insisted, fighting a yawn as he did.  Cato’s eyes had circles under them, and Peeta was sure he wasn’t much better.  It had been a long day and they had been walking for hours.  Those hours were on top of even more hours hauling the heavy supplies around to the piles.  Despite what Cato said, they needed sleep. 

“You know we’re not,” said Peeta.

Cato glared at him.  “Shut it, Twelve!”

“No,” he retorted.  “If we listen to you, we’re all gonna pass out in the middle of a fight and get ourselves killed.  The girls are right; we need some sleep.”

He just glared at them.  “We keep going.”

“We stay,” retorted Glimmer, gaze just as hard.

The two Careers glared at each other for a moment before Cato sighed.  “Fine,” he said, “I’ll take first watch.”

At that, the four of them made camp for the night.  They had all brought sleeping bags, but Glimmer and Algae said they wanted a fire.

“Bad idea,” said Peeta, thinking of previous Games.  “If we light a fire, anyone in the area will know we’re here.”

“Good,” insisted Cato.  “Let’s get the fire going.  Lure ‘em all in.”

“Except they won’t be running to us,” retorted Peeta, yawning.  “These aren’t Careers.  If they see a fire, they’re gonna run in another direction.  They won’t want to get too close.”

“Please, Peeta,” waved off Algae, curling into her sleeping bag as it leaned up against a tree.  “This is the Hunger Games.  Everyone knows you’ve gotta kill.”

“Sure,” said Peeta, sliding into his own sleeping bag without lighting a fire.  “But if you don’t know how, which most of these people won’t, you’re not gonna want to take the risk.  You’ll just try to keep yourself alive.  No one will come running.  They’ll all be heading in the opposite direction.”

Cato seemed to glare at him for a moment, though it was difficult to tell in the darkness.  Then, Peeta noticed a slight nod.  “Alright,” he agreed.  “No fire.  Algae and I have the first shift.  We’ll wake you in three hours.  When we’re all awake,” Peeta could feel his smirk in the darkness, “we go hunting.”

After a day of work and killing, Peeta passed out the minute he closed his eyes.  Three hours of sleep wouldn’t be enough, but it was better than the alternative.  As he fell slept, Peeta could only shake as the faces of the bloodbath — his victims — haunted him.  His teeth chattered and he shook.

It was a relief when Cato roughly shook him awake.  The glare from the boy from 5, made worse by the gaping hole in his head, stared back at him as he blinked.  Gulping, he looked up at the older boy.

“Your turn,” he said without preamble and slid into his sleeping bag.  Algae was already lying down, and Glimmer had pushed herself into a sitting position.

With a yawn, Peeta pushed himself up and stared around him.  It was black as pitch, and he could understand Cato and Algae’s desire to light a fire.  The darkness was eerie. 

Peeta slid out of his sleeping bag and crawled to sit next to Glimmer.  The blonde girl looked no less exhausted than she did before she slept, but at least she was awake. 

“Shoulda stayed at camp,” she muttered, smirking at him.

Chuckling, Peeta replied, “Proper sleeping hours, and no Cato growling.”  He nodded.  “Sounds nice.”

“Dad never told me it would be like this,” she muttered, looking at her hands in her lap.

Peeta looked sideways at her.  “Exhausting?”

“Terrifying,” she corrected.  She sighed.  “He never told me it was this terrifying.”

“Well, did you tell him you were gonna volunteer?” he asked her, curious.  During the reapings, he hadn’t noticed that the commentators undoubtedly mentioned that she was a legacy tribute.  They did it every year there was a legacy.  And every year, the victor relative looked horrified.

Glimmer gave him a tired half-smile.  “I didn’t even know I was volunteering,” she confessed.

Now, Peeta just looked at her.  She didn’t know?  How was that possible?

Perhaps seeing the question on his face, or knowing that what she said required a follow-up, Glimmer explained.  “A twelve-year-old was reaped,” she told him.  “I’d never seen her before; District One’s too big to know everyone.  But I did know the girl that was supposed to volunteer for her.  We had gone to school together.  A week before the reaping, we all came together—all my classmates and I—and anyone who wanted to volunteer put their names forward for a vote.”

She was just staring off into the stream before them, seemingly listening intently to the licking water along the bed of the stream.  Peeta knew she must have been talking about District 1’s Career Academy.  Tributes were trained and then told to volunteer.  He hadn’t known that the students chose who volunteered.  Or that the children could opt out of the Games.

“Jessalyn Devon.”  She said the girl’s name monotonously.  “My age.  Lethal with a spear.  She was the only one who wanted to enter this year.  So, we let her.  Frankly, I was relieved when she offered to go.  Someone was going too.  I didn’t want to come into the arena.”

Peeta stared at her.  She didn’t want to enter the arena?  “What happened?”

“Devon froze,” she shrugged, as though it was no big deal.  “It happens sometimes.  Usually, there are others who want to go into the Games, so it’s barely noticeable that there’s a pause when she doesn’t stand up.  This year, no one did.”

“So you chose too,” he finished.

Glimmer nodded.  “That little girl was twelve.  She wouldn’t last five minutes in the arena.  Devon wasn’t taking her place, so I stepped forward.  I actually had a chance.”

“But you didn’t want to come in.”  She had seemed so confident in training, so self-assured.  It was difficult to believe that this woman sitting next to him didn’t want to be in the arena.  He stared at her in awe.

Though it wasn’t a question, Glimmer nodded.  “Dad was freaking out,” she admitted.  “All the victors were.  I’d known them my whole life.  None of them wanted me in here.”

All of this would no doubt be edited heavily in the re-showing the following evening.  No doubt that the Capitol didn’t want it advertised that its tributes weren’t happy with their lot in life.  Yet, Peeta suspected that they wouldn’t erase the conversation entirely.  No, they loved to show moments like this; moments where tributes really bonded with one another.

“They’re all terrified that I won’t come home.  My entire family if freaking out about it.”

Finally, Peeta placed a tentative hand on hers.  “I don’t know if you’re going home,” he told her.  “There are still fifteen people between you and them.  But, even if you die tomorrow, you saved that little girl.”  He smiled slightly at himself and scoffed.  “Hell, you did more than I did.  No one will miss me if I die.”

“What about your boy?” asked Glimmer, latching onto the topic change.

Rolling his eyes, Peeta conceded, “Alright, Garnet will miss me.”  He took a deep sigh and looked up at the night sky.  “But other than him, there’s really no one.  My friends Madge and Delly, would.  But they’ve got their lives ahead of them, and they’ve got each other and Gar.  They’ll be alright.  My dad, I guess, but he’s got my brothers and the store.  My brothers have their own lives, and we were never that close.  My mother…”  He winced.  “Well, the less said about her the better.”

“Peeta,” she said, giving him a full smile.  “I get the feeling that ‘Garnet,’” she emphasized his name with a chuckle, “will say that losing you is unacceptable.  Don’t forget that at least he’ll miss you…”

“Still,” he said, “that’s one person compared to—”

“No one said that caring was a contest,” she retorted.  “If he’ll miss you, then get home.  Hell, if you’ll miss home, that’s reason enough to just win the damn Games.”

“Likewise,” he replied, smiling at her.

“The difference is, Peeta,” she said, “I don’t need to be reminded that I need to fight; I’m going to do everything to get home.  I just don’t want you getting taken out without having put up a fight.”

Peeta chuckled faintly.  “I won’t,” he promised.

There was no further talking as the two of them stared out into the darkness of the woods, but Peeta could feel a shift.  There was a camaraderie that hadn’t been there before.  In a different life, Peeta got the feeling he and Glimmer could have been really good friends.  Of course, that life wasn’t this one.  This one had the Hunger Games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't like the last chapter at all. I wanted it to show a different side of the Careers and their interactions. I tried to show the humans hidden by the tributes. Moreover, I wanted to show that Katniss' views of these tributes--that they're heartless, monstrous, killing machines--is not the case.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is day two of the Games, and the tributes are starting to figure out that...walking around a forest can be pretty boring. Of course, that doesn't last.

As the sun glared down, Peeta pushed himself into a sitting position. Glimmer’s head lolling off his shoulder.  He blinked rapidly.  Yawning, he looked to his sides and noticed the sleeping Careers around him…

“Oh no,” he groaned.  He looked to Glimmer, who had been nestled at his side through the night.  They had fallen asleep on watch.

Peeta shook Glimmer lightly on the shoulder.  “Glim,” he muttered, “Glimmer, we gotta get up.”

“Uh,” she shook her head, still asleep.  He shook her harder.  “Peeta,” she muttered into her sleeping bag.  “Quit it.”

“We need to get up,” he insisted, trying to keep his voice low.  “We overslept, and Cato will kill us if we don’t wake him up soon.”

That did the trick.  Glimmer’s head shot up, eyes wide, and she looked around.  “How late is it?”

He looked up at the sun and shrugged.  “Not sure,” he admitted.  “Nearly noon, I think.”

“Shit,” she hissed, pulling herself out of the sleeping bag.  “We’re both dead.”

“We could run off,” he joked, pulling himself to his feet.  “Run away.  Be our own alliance.”

After packing up their sleeping bags, they looked over at their sleeping comrades.  It was time to wake up the sleeping monster.  Both of them stayed in one place.

“I’ll take Algae,” they both said in unison.  Chuckling, Peeta glared at her.  “I’ll take Algae, you get Cato.”

“No way,” she insisted.  “You wake up Cato.  You’re bigger.  If he lashes out, you can take him.”

“Doubt it,” he retorted.  “But regardless, he’s less likely to lash out if you’re the one waking him up.”

“Still,” she said, walking over to Algae.  “You can wake up our ruthless leader.”  Then, she knelt down and shook the girl from Four’s shoulder.

Jarred, Algae shot up.  “Who-huh.  What’s going on.”

“Get up, Algae,” instructed Glimmer, glaring over at Peeta.  “And you, wake him up.”

Peeta suspected that waking Cato up after having overslept for several hours was likely to be more deadly than the rest of the arena combined.  Still, he moved over to the sleeping boy and paused.

“What now?” demanded Glimmer, looking judgmentally at him.  Really, if she was that impatient, she could wake him up herself.

Cato’s sword laid at his side when Peeta picked it up.  “Let’s just move this out of the way.”

Algae chuckled.  “Coward.”

Peeta just smirked.  “Guilty,” he admitted.  He handed the sword over to her and shook Cato’s shoulders before hastily jumping away.

The boy lunged to his feet, his legs tangled in the sleeping bag when he did.  As a result, he flailed around for a moment before falling onto his side.  Under any other circumstance, Peeta would have laughed.  In fact, he was sure the audience would be laughing.  In the arena, having forgotten to wake Cato up on time, Peeta just gulped nervously.

“What happened?” he demanded, looking around the clearing.  “What time is it?”

Glimmer and Peeta shrugged awkwardly.  “We think it’s about noon,” Peeta admitted.  “We kinda fell asleep.”

“You did WHAT?” he demanded, pushing himself out of the sleeping bag to tower over them.  He advanced on them slowly, menacingly.  “Why the hell—”

“Calm down, Cato,” Glimmer snapped, glaring at him.  Alright, Peeta decided.  If it wasn’t clear from her story the night before, it was now: Glimmer was far more courageous than him.  “We fell asleep.  So what?  No one snuck up on us.  We survived the night.  Let’s pack up and move on.”

“Someone could have killed us,” he snapped, glaring at them.  “This is the Hunger Games.  We need to be prepared for anything.”

Peeta sighed.  Cato was right, and it was uncomfortable to admit to that.  They should have stayed awake longer.  It was their job to keep watch.  He felt like kicking himself, though he didn’t say that aloud.  Cato seemed as though he would be happy to assist.

“I’m sorry,” he told Cato, cutting off his rant.  “Next time, we’ll have shorter, one man guard duties.  We’ll each get more sleep that way.”

Glimmer rolled her eyes.  “It’s not that big a deal!” she insisted.

“Yes, it is,” retorted Cato.  “It is a big deal.  Any of us could have been killed.”

“And now we’ve lost a day’s hunting,” noted Algae, rolling her eyes.  She had been packing while Cato was reprimanding them, and now had her bag ready for travel.  “If we start now, maybe we can find someone tonight.  I might be able to pick up a trail if we start looking.”

Cato took a deep breath and nodded at her.  “Good,” he said.  “I’ll pack up now, and we can get going.  Can I get my sword back?” he said, not really asking.

The girl from 4 nodded and handed over the sword.  Satisfied, Cato turned back and quickly shoved everything into his bag, not caring to ensure that everything was organized.  When he zipped it closed, struggling with his zipper, he turned back to the three of them.

“Which way do we go?” he asked Algae.

She looked around the little clearing they were in for a moment.  It was interesting to watch her inspect the stream, looking for something that Peeta didn’t know.  Finally, she pointed to their left.  “That way,” she declared.  “They would have gone that way.”

“What makes you so sure?” asked Glimmer even as they moved in the direction Algae pointed. 

Algae pointed to the stream.  “That’s the direction the stream is flowing.  Going upstream would be way more difficult.  Especially with an injury.  No, they went with the flow of the water.”

“Perfect,” declared Cato, hurrying ahead.  “Let’s get moving.”

“Slow down, Two,” cautioned Algae.  “We’ve gotta take this slow.  If I’m gonna pick up a trail, I’ll need time to check the woods.  This will take time.”

Growling, Cato nodded.  “Tell me when you find something.”

Slow was right.  Peeta hadn’t realized when he was at home watching the Games just how long the tributes walked around doing nothing.  It was around noon when they started, and Algae kept them walking without any success until after sunset. 

Every thirty feet or so, she would stop them to look along the trees and shrubbery.  She would go over every tree branch and twig, every indent in the ground, to see if it came from the tribute they were hunting.

No one really spoke when they were walking.  It wasn’t that they worried about other tributes—being a Career pretty much assuaged those fears—but rather no one wanted to talk about home.  It was this big taboo over their conversations, but there wasn’t anything else to discuss.

Peeta’s talk with Glimmer the night before was different.  At night, despite the cameras, it was easy to forget they were being watched.  The darkness was like a blanket that they could hide under.  Talking about themselves felt more acceptable.

In daylight, however, the feeling of being watched was back with full-force.  Any personal word they uttered felt as though it was being projected to the entire country, and no one wanted to have their home life on display.  Peeta shivered at the thought.

Considering they were the Careers, and the other tributes were probably lone tributes hiding out in the forest—few tributes outside the Careers formed alliances before entering the arena—they were probably the most interesting thing the Capitol could project.  That meant that everything they said likely _would_ be on display for the country.

After dark, the anthem of Panem played throughout the arena.  The seal was projected in the sky, but there were no faces.  No one had died today.

“Should we set up camp for the night?” asked Peeta taking a swig from his water bottle.  It was about half empty already, but he would try to make it last.  He wondered if they others realized how quickly the sparse supplies they had brought would be depleted.  Probably not if Glimmer’s absent munching on a piece of jerky was any indication.  “Maybe get an early start tomorrow.”

“No need,” declared Cato, looking grimly into the woods.  Peeta followed his gaze.  “I found our next victim.”

In the distance, above the tree line, a plume of smoke was rising into the sky.  A plume of smoke could only mean one thing: fire.  Fire meant a tribute to light it.  To Careers, which Peeta reminded himself he now was, a tribute meant a kill.

Now, there was no telling that the fire was actually created by a tribute.  The Gamemakers could have easily set it to lure them to a pack of mutts.  Yet, there had only been a day since the bloodbath, two if one counted the day being over.  That wasn’t really enough time for the Capitol to get bored.  No, if that was a fire, a tribute probably lit it.

“Let’s go,” announced Cato, breaking into a run.

Peeta and the girls followed behind him as he ran through the woods.  Peeta thought that this tribute couldn’t have been that smart.  Lighting a fire in the middle of the night was suicide.  Especially with no deaths during the day.  They had to have known that the Careers would be coming.

Still, Peeta took comfort in the knowledge that it wouldn’t be Katniss.  She was far too smart to make a rookie mistake such as that.  No, someone else had screwed up.  It might even have been the person they were tracking, to begin with.  It was the same direction, after all.

The fire was farther away than Peeta realized, and the pack had to run for over an hour before finally seeing the firelight in the distance.  Whoever lit it was probably still there, not having realized the danger.

Cato came to a halt.

“We go slowly and quietly from here,” he instructed.  “No need to make ‘em run off.”

The three of them nodded.  Peeta unhooked his mace from his side and clutched it tight as they moved forward.  He grimaced every time he took a step and a twig broke.  The others were quieter, and he could tell that he would be the one to alert the tribute to their presence. 

As the fire came more clearly into view, Peeta’s shoulders tensed.  They were nearing the tribute.  Through, the branches, he could see the tribute.  Peeta gulped.  No, it wasn’t Katniss who had lit the fire; he had been right about that. 

Instead, it was the girl from District 8. 

She was small and dainty; little in a way only the girl from Eleven could match.  Vaguely, Peeta remembered that she was only thirteen.  How could they let her come into the arena?  She was so tiny.

On her arm, there was a poorly wrapped bandage seeping with blood.  That must have been the trail they were following.  The fire she had lit was small, but it illuminated her chattering teeth and the hands she was frantically rubbing together in front of it.  She hadn’t seen them.

“Hey, girly,” declared Cato, jumping into the clearing.

At once, she screamed.  Hastily, she scrambled to her feet and made to run, but Glimmer nocked an arrow and fired.  It flew through the break in the trees, missing the girl by inches.

Though she didn’t hit the girl, dodging the projectile caused her to stumble.  Taking the opportunity, Cato ran forward and drove his sword straight through her stomach.  As he pulled out, the girl crumbled to the ground.

Fast, brutal, and cold.  That was all Peeta could think about as he grabbed the girl’s bag and started ruffling through it.  As he ruffled through, his face grew more and more annoyed before throwing it to the ground.

“Nothing?” asked Algae, looking a little put out.

Cato shook his head.  “Nothing useful.  Come on, let’s get out of here before she starts to smell.”

That was a little cold, thought Peeta, staring at the dead girl.  She wouldn’t start to smell for a while, would she?  But he didn’t want to be around her dead body either.  For him, he didn’t need another corpse haunting his mind.  Still, he followed after Cato as they began walking a little ways away from the dead girl.

As they moved away, the firelight was muted, but Glimmer paused.  “Shouldn’t there have been a cannon?”

Peeta paused, not having realized that he hadn’t heard anything.  The girl was definitely down, dying soon, no doubt.  But there wasn’t the cannon to alert them that she was officially gone.

“I would say yes,” said Algae, nodding.  “There’s no reason for them not to pick up the body.”

“Unless she isn’t dead,” noted Glimmer.

Cato glared at her.  “She’s dead,” he insisted.  “I stabbed her myself.”

“Where’s the cannon?”

He glared at her.  “I told you,” he said shortly.  “She’s dead.”

“Someone should go back and check,” suggested Algae, turning as if to return to the campsite.

“I told you she’s dead!”

“Then why haven’t we heard a cannon?” demanded Glimmer.  “If you’re so sure, we would know by now.”

“Look, just because the cannon’s a little late doesn’t mean she isn’t dead!”

“But it could mean that she isn’t dead,” insisted Glimmer, throwing her hands into the air.  “We don’t need her crawling off, so we have to kill her again.”

“I know where she was stabbed,” spat Cato.  “She’s de—”

“We’re wasting time,” snapped Peeta, turning back to the fire.  “I’ll go check on her.”

Returning to the girl from 8, Peeta noticed that, no, Cato hadn’t killed her.  Though she probably wished that he had.

Instead, she was lying on the ground, a stream of blood gushing out of her open wound.  She was dying, and there was blood coming from her mouth, but she wasn’t dead.

Peeta knelt next to the girl, smiling at her.  Her eyes were opened and tearful as she struggled to breathe, desperately trying to form words.  “Hi,” he told her, voice gentle and soft. 

She tried to form more words, but nothing came out.  “Don’t try to talk,” he told her, shaking his head as he placed a hand on her soft, sallow cheek.  “It’ll hurt.”

His throat constricted as she nodded at him, a thin, lipless smile trying to form words.   He tried to speak to her.  “I know you’re scared.”  Her face scrunched in pain as she nodded.  “And I know you want this to end.  So don’t, don’t think about the pain, okay.  Think about home.”

Her eyes were almost glazed as he continued to speak.  “You’re right outside your house,” he said, pulling out his knife.  “Inside, you can hear your parents talking and your family bustling around.  The door is just like you remember it as you clutch the doorknob.”  He held the knife to the side of her throat.  “You push it open and they’re waiting for you.”  His words caught in his throat as he put the frail little girl to sleep.  “You’re home.”  He slid the knife deeply across her throat.

Falling back, gasping, he looked at her as the blood poured out of her throat like a demented smile.  She gargled as blood poured out of her upturned mouth before her body went slack.

_BOOM!_

Though it felt like an eternity, he only sat there for a moment before Glimmer shook his shoulder.  “Peeta,” she said, shaking him harder.  “We gotta go.”

Still, he sat there for another moment; staring at her body.  Though she was dead, blood still oozed down the side of her neck, pouring from the wound.  As though her heart was still pumping in her chest.

“I get it,” she told him, tugging at him.  “But we need to move.”

Finally, Peeta nodded.  He pushed himself onto shaking legs and walked with Glimmer back to Cato and Algae.  The two were standing with arms crossed and deadpan looks as they waited for the two of them.

“So was she dead?” demanded Cato.

He had no answer for him.  Peeta just gripped his knife tight in his hand as he stared into the ground.

“Twelve,” he snapped, jarring Peeta from his thoughts.  Looking up, Cato asked him, “Is she dead?”

“She wasn’t,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady.  “But she is now.”

Cato nodded.  “Great.  Let’s head out of here.  The others’ll be waiting for us back at camp.”

“Maybe we should head back to the river for the night,” suggested Algae, already moving alongside Cato.  “Make camp out here so we won’t have to trek through the woods.”

Peeta chuckled.  “Clove won’t like that,” he commented. 

Glimmer giggled.  “But isn’t that half the fun.”

“Not if she kills us in our sleep for it,” noted Peeta, smiling slightly at her, though that wasn’t a joke. 

“Doubt she’ll take all of us,” said Cato, weighing the options.  He was the deciding vote, after all.  They weren’t very good at standing up to him when he got angry.  Probably because he could kill most of them.

“Fine,” he relented.  “We’ll camp for the night, but we’re heading out early.  We’re running out of food, and I’m getting hungry.”

Peeta looked oddly at him.  He still had a decent amount of food; probably enough for another two to three days.  But Algae and Glimmer were nodding along with him emphatically.  Did they already work through all the food they had brought?  The only bit of supplies he was running low on was water.

The group of them went off, not really trying to be quiet as they moved through the arena, anxious to get to their campsite for the evening.  Or rather, for the night.  Peeta couldn’t wait to get some sleep. 

Even the extra sleep he had had that morning wasn’t really enough.  The long day had been grueling.  Peeta’s muscles ached and his legs begged for relief.  It would feel so nice to just relax for the night.

With that thought, Peeta hurried after the three Careers and off to the river.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update. Here it is.

Peeta hadn’t realized how far they had been walking until they tried to return to camp.  When they woke up the morning of day three by the river, they immediately began their trek back.  Unfortunately, Algae wasn’t quite as good at directions as she was at tracking.

“I can follow a trail,” she snapped when Cato glared.  “I can tell you about the directions if you need me too, but it was dark when we were hunting.  I’m not sure which direction we were coming from.”

They had been walking for about two hours when Cato had turned to her and demanded that she get them back.  Clearly, he hadn’t given much thought to learning these skills himself.  Not when he could learn how to wield a sword.  Algae and Glimmer, too, had dedicated themselves to their weapons’ skills at the expense of basic survival training.  Again, Peeta thought, what did they teach these tributes at the Career Academy.

“So we’re lost,” he surmised, unimpressed. 

“Not completely,” soothed Glimmer, stepping between them.  She pointed to the horizon in the distance.  The mountains that rose opposite them at the edge of the forest.  “Those were behind us when we left the cornucopia.  “If we head in that direction, we should find it eventually.”

“Good,” snorted Algae, glaring at Cato.  “At least someone else can pull their weight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Algae glared at him defiantly.  “It means that you haven’t exactly been useful on this hunting trip.”

He had to admire her nerve.  Peeta never would have said something like that to Cato; he was too likely to kill the speaker.  Yet Algae glared at him without a touch of fear.

Cato, at least, didn’t disappoint and stalked into her face.  “Who do you think you’re talking too?” he demanded.  “I killed that girl back there.”

“Really?’ she asked, glaring mutinously at him.  “’Cause I remember you failed to kill the girl back there so Peeta did it for you.  And I’ve been doing the tracking, Glimmer noticed the mountains, and Peeta packed all the food.  What exactly have you done?”

“Watch it,” he griped through his teeth.  Glaring down at her.  His hand twitched to the sword at his side as he glared.  “I will hack you to pieces.”

“Not likely,” she retorted.  Smirking, she said “There are still fifteen tributes left.  The guy from Eleven among them.  Now, I’m sure you could take him down, but he could take you down, too.  And even if you did kill him, you really think you’d walk away unscathed.  No, you need us at least until he’s gone.  So I ask again: what have you done?”

“Killed three tributes,” noted Cato, turning his head away.

“One of whom was the guy from Three.  The guy who you were going to let destroy our food if Peeta hadn’t talked you out of it.”

“Enough,” insisted Peeta, forcing the two of them away from each other.  Both fought against his hold as though to plunge back into the fight.  He needed to put a stop to this before Algae brought up any more accomplishments of his.  “This isn’t helping any of us.”

“She started it,” snapped Cato, his hateful glare not leaving Algae.  The girl glared back just as fiercely.

“I’m ending it,” he shot back.  “Algae’s right: Eleven’s still alive.  Until he’s gone, we need each other.  So everyone needs to calm the fuck down.”

For a few moments, the two glared at each other.  Peeta was almost sure they would ignore him and lunge into a fight.  He thought about taking a few steps back to avoid the conflict.  Then, thankfully, Glimmer intervened.

“Peeta’s right,” she said, joining him in between the two.  “Unless we want to all get killed taking down Eleven, we need to be realistic here.  Working as a group’ll keep us alive a lot longer than killing each other off will.”

“Alright,” agreed Algae, smirking at Cato as she stopped fighting.  “Never let it be said that I’m not a team player.  We’ll head in the direction Peeta suggested.  If we don’t find the cornucopia by nightfall, we’ll camp out and find it tomorrow.”

“Clove’s gonna kill us,” snorted Glimmer, moving to stand next to the girl.

Cato stopped fighting as well, smirking at Glimmer’s words.  “Or she’ll just run off on her own.  Probably won’t be there when we get back.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” asked Peeta, looking at him oddly.  He didn’t seem the type to tolerate someone going off on their own without consulting him.

The group of them started walking toward the mountains, still tense from the altercation. 

“Not really something I control,” he said with a shrug.  It was so odd talking to someone with a sword strapped to their waist.  “Clove’s gonna want to kill someone.  If we keep her from that for too long, she’ll go off on her own to do it.  Most I can hope for is that she kills a few people before coming back to finish us off.”

“At which point you would take her down,” surmised Glimmer, staring at him.  Peeta could hear the expectation in her voice.  That was what she was hoping would come of the alliance; the two powerhouses would handle each other.

He nodded.  “At which point I would take her down.”

Uncomfortable with the nonchalant conversation, Peeta said, “Let’s hurry up.  We don’t want it to get dark before we really start looking.”

“It won’t get dark for a few more hours,” protested Cato, holding up his wrist to show him the watch.  Even as he did so, the boy followed Peeta off toward the mountain.

Peeta nodded.  “But haven’t you noticed how weird time’s been in the arena?” he asked.  “We overslept by hours yesterday, and today the sun rose hours before we woke up, too.”

“How’d you figure that?” asked Algae, stepping to his side. 

The boy smiled bashfully.  “I’m a baker,” he admitted.  “We get up early every morning to prep for the day.  Time has been off in the arena.”

“By off,” Cato said tentatively, “you mean…”

“I mean I think they’re making the days longer,” he replied.  “Or they’re messing with when the sun rises or something.  It’s the only thing that makes sense as to why we keep oversleeping.  This isn’t a twenty-four-hour day.”

The other three thought over what that could mean.  Sleeping schedules would be off, other tributes could be awake when they’re asleep, and any number of problems could arise from this change in the arena.

A few hours later, Peeta was proven right when the sun began to set.  Cato’s watch said that it was only supposed to be four o’ clock.  The darkness was more menacing, now, in light of the argument that Algae and Cato nearly got into.  It made him feel like the fight would occur again but without any warning.

Maybe it was the tension of having killed someone, or maybe the arena was getting to him, but Peeta couldn’t relax his muscles as he walked.  He felt constantly on edge, and the darkness only exacerbated it.  It was hard to see, and he felt out of control.

The anthem boomed throughout the arena and the seal of Panem projected into the sky.  They all paused to stare up at the sky, watching as the seal faded.  Then, the girl from 8 looked across the arena for a final time before the image faded.  Panem’s anthem played again, and the sky faded to black.

Peeta stared up at it, his face blank.  With a deep breath, he looked at the others.  “I hate to say it, but we need to make camp.”

“It’s only four,” protested Cato, staring at him incredulously.

He nodded.  “You’re right, it’s only four.  But how many tributes know that?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Glimmer, confused.

Peeta shook his head.  It was so obvious that both of them had never had to work on a schedule the way he did.  Getting up at the crack of dawn and working in the bakery was something he did regularly.  He didn’t need a clock to wake him up; he was used to it.

Algae, though, seemed to get it.  “No, Peeta’s right.”  She looked at the others and said, “Everyone else is gonna be judging when to go to sleep by the sun.  That means that there’s gonna be a pretty big overlap when we’re still sleeping and they’re all awake.  They’ll be able to kill us.”

“It shouldn’t be a big deal,” insisted Cato, shaking his head.  “We’ll just get up earlier.”

“Great,” droned Peeta, rolling his eyes.  “And while we’re at it, how about we ask the other tributes to go easy on us while we try to wake up?  We need to be alert, Cato, and that means getting used to the arena’s sleep schedule.”

Glimmer sighed.  “Makes sense,” she admitted.

“Fine,” huffed Cato, slipping his bag off his back.  “Let’s get some sleep.”

Peeta set himself up for the night, but he kept his eyes on Cato as the boy grumbled through setting up for the evening.  He had been in a bad mood all day, and the argument with Algae hadn’t helped any.

Hopefully, Cato was reasonable enough to wait until Thresh was dead before killing any of them, but Peeta couldn’t count on that.  He remembered Cato’s hesitance during training.  He hadn’t wanted to allow Peeta to join, and it wouldn’t surprise Peeta if he woke up one day with Cato pulling a bloody sword from his chest.

“You take first watch, Twelve,” snapped Cato, already slipping into his sleeping bag.  Glimmer was already on the ground, nearly asleep.

“Should we work in two shifts?” asked Algae, sitting down next to him.  “Maybe work an extra hour for the others to sleep.”

“Might make Cato more agreeable,” he noted, chuckling.  He unzipped his sleeping bag and pulled it around his shoulders like a blanket.  His stomach was grumbling weirdly, though he had eaten an apple only an hour earlier.

“I can still hear you,” the boy snapped, not lifting his head off the ground.

Both of them laughed.  “Maybe we should stick to the sleep schedule?” he suggested, motioning for her to get over to the others.  “If we try and stay awake too long, we won’t be awake in the morning.  Two hours should be good.  Get some sleep.”

“Alright,” she said, flapping out her sleeping bag to slide in.  “Wake me up in a few hours for my watch.”

“No problem.”

Sitting in silence was horrible for Peeta.  Even as a kid, he had never done well with silence.  It always reminded him of the quiet when his mother was on a rampage through the bakery.  He would tiptoe around her as though a sound could incur her wrath.  In fact, it often did.

The arena was no different.  He had expected to hear crickets or rustling leaves through the night as he guarded the others, but there was nothing.  The silence was a stark reminder of the artificiality of the entire forest.  There didn’t have to be bugs if the Gamemakers didn’t want it.  Or noise for that matter.  They controlled the place.

Left alone with his thoughts, Peeta couldn’t help but think back to the girl from 8.  She had been so little, and he killed her.  It was different from the boy from 5.  That had been in the heat of the bloodbath, and he had attacked him.  Even Christian from 8…

Oh.  It occurred to him that he had played a role in both the tributes from 8 dying.  The entire district must hate him for what he did to their tributes.  He was so awful to both of them.  Christian was pulverized by him.  And the girl… He took a deep breath. 

Lacy.  That was her name.  She was thirteen and now he had killed her. 

Against his will, he felt tears prickle in his eyes. 

How was he going to go home?  Three children were dead largely because of him.  Sure, Christian was Triton’s kill, but he certainly would have bled out from the wounds Peeta had inflicted.

This is why, he thought to himself absently.  This is why Haymitch drinks.  All of District 12 knew of the drunken victor.  He was the laughingstock of the district.  Peeta could remember the countless jibes his mother had made toward the man for his drunken floundering.  Even Peeta’s father, kinder than his mother, had nodded in agreement whenever she made those jabs. 

But now he understood.  This feeling – the guilt – could turn anyone into a drunk.  After all, how would Peeta’s mother, father, or brothers understand what this was like?  Only another victor could.  And with Beena stuck in the Capitol, Haymitch was the last.

Was that what he would become?  A hopeless drunk that falls off the stage at the reaping each year.  That wasn’t a life he wanted for himself.  He didn’t want to isolate himself the way Haymitch did.  He wanted to go home and for things to go back to the way they were.  He missed Garnet, and Delly, and Madge.  He didn’t want to go back to them broken.

Did all victors deal with this?  He didn’t want to go through this entire hell just to break when he left.  He wanted to go home and live his life.

“So what’s going on in that pretty blonde head of yours?” asked a voice, startling him.  Peeta whipped around to the sound and let out a breath.  Algae was standing there with a half-smirk.  “You looked like you were a million miles away.”

“District Twelve,” he noted.  “Just wondering what life would be like when I get out of here.”  He forced himself to smirk at her.  “Think I’m gonna end up a drunk like Haymitch?”

Algae chuckled, sitting down next to him.  She wrapped her sleeping bag around her legs and shivered.  “Doubt it.  You’re too tough for that.”

“That’s my thinking,” he agreed.  “But nearly every victor I can think of is drugged up or an alcoholic.  At least,” he acknowledged as she moved to object, “Most from the outlying districts.  Haymitch from my district.  Chaff Mitchell from Eleven.  All the drug addicts in Six.  We kinda got a reputation.”

“Not just the outlying districts,” she replied, sighing as she curled up next to him.  “Annie Cresta’s from my district, and she’s insane.  Librae Ogilvy’s a drunk.  My district.  Blush Barrowman — from District One — is as much a drunk as Haymitch.  Zenobia Rivendell from Two.  Every district’s got a few drunks.”

“Why’d you volunteer then?” he asked, looking at her in a new way.  She wasn’t snarky like when she confronted Cato, and she wasn’t shaken like she was after the bloodbath.  Instead, she seemed to simply ponder the question.

“Most don’t turn out like that,” she said.  She looked straight in his eyes as she spoke and smiled at his dubious look.  “I’m serious,” she insisted.  “For every victor that’s gone off the deep end, there’s three that made a life for themselves after the arena.  And in Four, the victors are pillars of society.  Oceanus Selkirk came from my town, and he hosts a festival every year in our village to celebrate the start of summer.  He’s the one who inspired me to become a Career.  Mags Flanagan spearheaded the District Four gentrification project fifty years ago.  She was able to get hospitals built and had labor laws passed.  She and Museida Selkirk founded the Career Academy in my district.  They’ve changed our lives.”

“But that’s District Four,” he told her, shrugging, though her words made him feel a bit better.  “Haymitch just drinks all day.  He hasn’t bettered the district like your victors did.”

“What about the victor before Haymitch?” asked Algae, scrunching her eyes together.  “What about him?  Damn, can’t remember his name.”

“Beena Greene,” he told her.

 “Right,” she mumbled, “You’re other victor’s a woman.  I knew that.”  Louder, she said, “What about her?  I saw something about her on Mandatory Viewing.”

“And I don’t know; she helped out around the town, I guess.  I know she paid off my friend Delly’s family’s debts when they were about to lose the store.  Her daughter owns the grocery store.  I think she was the one who set it up.  I heard my father mention that we hadn’t had a proper one before she did that.”

“There you go,” said Algae, shrugging as leaned back to get more comfortable on her tree.  “A victor who maybe didn’t do much but was able to help out in little ways.”

“Fair enough,” Peeta said.  “But there’s a difference between opening a grocery store and bettering an entire district.”

“Not really,” replied Algae as though talking about the weather.  “Little things add up.  You said that Beena founded a grocery store when you didn’t have one, right?”  Peeta nodded.  “So, she bettered the district.  It may not be a big difference to you, but to someone it is.  Why can’t you take it further?”

“You think I could?” he asked her, raising his eyebrows.

She chuckled.  “Just talking hypotheticals,” she said.  “After all, I’m gonna be heading home when all this is over.  But, if Triton or I can’t, sure, do it.  I like you, Twelve.  You might as well win when all this is over.”

Chuckling, he smiled.  “Thanks, Algae.  And hey, if Twelve can’t win, you wouldn’t be a bad choice.”

“Look, Pretty Boy,” she said, smirking at him.  “Between the two of us, that sounded much better coming from me.”

“And why’s that?” he asked.

The girl shrugged.  “Well, if you must know,” she said, smiling, “my voice is a lot nicer than yours.”

Peeta laughed.  “I get the feeling there are several people in the Capitol who would disagree with you.”

“What makes you think that?”

He shrugged.  “I got more applause at the interview.”

Algae scoffed and rolled her eyes.  “Get some sleep, Twelve.  We’ve got a long day ahead of us, and I’ll need your help dealing with Clove’s bitching when we get back to camp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I really wanted the interactions between the Careers to show how unprepared they are for this. Cato and Glimmer, who have never worked long hours like Peeta and Algae, don't understand why people wouldn't follow a clock. I also really wanted to show Peeta ponding with Algae because I like her so there.


End file.
